March roared in like a wimp
Afraid to step foot into icy rains.
Dark and rainy, as in December
Held at bay by a warm stove's flames.


Let's go to the mall where shamrocks bloom,
Though made of silk or plastic
Canned music plays and people talk,
The blues fade away as magic.


Have faith I will for daffodils,
Burst through cold winter's rye.
Soon it will be St. Patty's day,
With green parades rain or shine.