We've had terrible weather swings. Some of the summer-looming perennials have begun to emerge, and then the temperature plummets again. This morning, it is 19 degrees. I'm covering the most tender ones up overnight, hoping they survive.
Here's a sprightly poem by Richard Kenney:
March
Sky a shook poncho.
Roof wrung. Mind a luna moth
Caught in a banjo.
This weather’s witty
Peek-a-boo. A study in
Insincerity.
Blues! Blooms! The yodel
Of the chimney in night wind.
That flat daffodil.
With absurd hauteur
New tulips dab their shadows
In water-mutter.
Boys are such oxen.
Girls! — sepal-shudder, shadow-
Waver. Equinox.
Plums on the Quad did
Blossom all at once, taking
Down the power grid.
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