Chilly days, winter days still,
birdsong - a harbinger of good will.
Pussy willows are stretching to the sun.
Yet the cold March air touches everyone.
Snow drops, crocuses, and clover, bring delight.
Wet winter footprints are a muddy, dirty white.
Wild, chilled bursts of sharp breezes,
whip around necks, persistently teases.
The sun, warming, melting the cold.
Bird song breaking winter's hold.
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