and spring—a matter of a few days
only,—a flower or two picked
from mud or from among wet leaves
or at best against treacherous
bitterness of wind, and sky shining
teasingly, then closing in black
and sudden, with fierce jaws.
...
March,
you are like a band of
young poets that have not learned
the blessedness of warmth
(or have forgotten it)."
-- William Carlos Williams
Excerpts from the poem, 'March' (1921)
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