March is spring,
the fresh air of morning
March is the rain on the nose,
a smile and a new hope
March Almost blue, smoke and wind socks
read
March is the way,
heady scents of leaves and old,
I look in the mirror,
March pats her hair uncombed and bond
a tear down the wrinkles,
adage fingers on the floor, basically I'm just a
November
yet there is no life for me,
November.
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