The End Of March


March came in like a lion;

went out like one

as well, roaring.

(There had been

calm times in between.)

Pale petals

grabbed from trees before

the flowers were fully formed

mixed with the snow

that dissolved on the bare ground.

Bins scuttled down the road,

alive and rattling,

shedding rubbish as they went.

Washing landed

in a fishpond

for a second soak

(startling the inhabitants).

The prop that should have held

the clothesline firm

dug itself into the grass

to avoid being sent arcing

like a javelin

point first to a bitter end.

Hail drummed

on cars, paths, windows, roofs

and all around,

nestling like spilled sugar

in new foxglove leaves.

A fence waved, rippling

as if a mirage had taken hold

but it was only the wind

telling the world

that April was coming;

in its own, cold,

boisterous fashion

trumpeting Spring.

8 thoughts on “The End Of March

    • And completely accurate – including my neighbour’s washing! It’s odd how describing something as if for a blog can produce hidden rhythms and rhymes and head for the poetry section!

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