February And Beyond

March Flints

That golden sun and sheepish grin have gone;
the woodsmen carted every fallen tree:
March is that wintry hinterland again,
a starving season, son of February.

Frosts still surprise our mornings, make us late.
To save for taxman now means tightened screw:
live carefully,  cut your account with fate,
catch up those things you always meant to do.

Hold there. What is this song of 'You Beware',
hand-me-down centuries of anxious Lent?
It comes from 'Lenz', days lengthening for spring,

through equinoctial Ostara, Easter,
cavalcade of change, pelting sun's bow bent :-
Feel the static-tensions crackling, building.

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