Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Tommy entered the yard. He swam against the current, small arms tugging hard at sky. He sank into the murky depths, short legs with labored strides. He rolled onto the beach borne by the tide. Then mother cried, “Tommy, what are you doing?” “Playing in the wind.” “Playing in mud.”

March winds, they said, that blend with April showers to bring May flowers… March crocuses with waving heads; they bled their purple petals on the ground while squirrels fed… March winds its mystery round my mind, Sunshine gone swift to rain, again, To watch the blossoms cry their sad refrain.