This third month gusts,
And all seems mad;
Impatient as we are...
Did we forget?
It's always marked
The seal of winter's scar?
I loathe the panting
Trenchant wind;
It ebbs and crests
All night.
We'll greet dear April
Soon enough;
Yet, she's not
Always bright!
poem by L.P.-G./ 3/2023
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