© 2015 Barbara Grace Lake
Blow, thou winds of March, I dare thee
Blow through branches, leaves before thee
Ravage, loosen eaves, untie them
Parch new plantings, wither scions.
Buds defy thee resolutely
Growth continues ever mutely.
Blow, thou last resort of winter
Know that where the bough dost splinter
There the new life more intensely
Quickens, foliage mats more densely
Each attempt thou make to plunder
Only marks thy futile blunder.
Blow, thou scourge so windows rattle
Blow, thou demon’s fearsome chattel
Wouldst thou have me hide in terror
Quaking in my dim-lit cellar?
No, for jonquils disregard and
Push their way through crust thee’ve hardened.
Blow, diminished foe, thy days end
Life resurgent supply dost bend
Never wilt thou break its forces
Streaming life despite thee courses
Spring conceived is newly borning
Blow, thou shalt not stay its morning.
Blow, thou winds of March