March is like a fickle woman: She can’t decide from one day to the next what she will be wearing or how her mood will be. She can conjure up ferocious winds that take kites soaring but she has the power to move objects on the ground. March doesn’t have one particular form of weather for she can produce warm days, rainy days and snowy days. She is the month that makes buds appear on trees, jonquils reach up out of the ground and put a start on regrowth. Her attributes are many and so many past poets have written about her. March carries with her the Ides and St. Patrick’s Day—from one frightening past history day to one of green, leprechauns and happiness. You can always tell March is here by feeling her gusty winds, seeing forsythia burst open in bloom and watch the buds appear as well as jonquils and daffodils. No matter what, March is a month of hope long overdue after winter and we welcome her with arms open wide.
Sherry Hill
Below are some poems about March.
Compiled by Karen and Mike Garofalo
Green Way Research, Red Bluff, California
"It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade."
- Charles Dickens
A light exists in Spring
Not present in the year
at any other period
When March is scarcely here."
- Emily Dickinson
"A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King."
- Emily Dickinson, # 103
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