It is late in March;
it is sunny and cold,
I want the snow to go,
and the green grass to behold.
It is late in March;
it is sunny and bright;
I want to go fishing,
and feel a big trout bite.
It is late in March,
and the snow still,
lays on the ground,
and no green grass
can be found.
It is late in March,
the song,
of the Robin
still not heard,
oh hasten, sweet spring,
and bring your song birds!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
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