March Rains

westcoasttrailbc.com

I enter slow the bitter bog.
I perch upon a fallen log,

survey the gloom and forest fog,

while tall trees drip and mosses sog.

I wrap my cape against the chill

and grumble, as we humans will,

resisting this late-winter chill.

I plod on, while resisting still.

Where is the spring, the sun, I ask.

Has winter not fulfilled its task?

My muse has donned its sleeping mask.

It needs some warmth in which to bask.

I turn homeward, with a will,

or else I would be walking still,

searching vainly, as one will,

for spring is only promised, still. 

The March rains  have kept our skies grey all month and my Muse has curled up like a gestating hog and refuses to send me even a glimmer of an idea. Sigh. So I decided some humor might jog a thought or two loose. March rains do not a-Muse me, LOL. But they sure beat snow, which my son and daughter-in-law still have, in Regina.