The March Sun

Just before Dawn comes a moment

as the frost yet crunches underfoot

and the breath freezes before you;

a moment disappearing

as the Sun rises in a purple and rose-colored second;

Daylight bathes you

in March's bitter swirl,

a strong wind from Winter's lungs fiercely expels

in the desperate roar of the Dying Lion;

No Winter can prevail:

beyond the brittle March Sun,

Spring is coming,

with a scent of thawed Earth

and delightful pinks and greens;

there is no resisting;

Despite the March Sun's cold stare,

in the sweet Spring air,

comes the taste of rosebuds.

© ACG

04 March 2011