Everybody knows
Of the gusting March winds
How they huff and they blow
Chilling us all through our skins

These winds are

One day we found a flimsy plastic kite,
With broken frame and string holes ripped of might.
That night we patched it up and

March, the misdirected, undecided month
Whose winds are ever changing when they blow
Whose southern gusts bring springtime’s

A bird seems hardly worth a stare,

For flocks of them transcend the air.

But on this day my eyes did wander,

To a curious

March has perfect weather
For the imagination
The winds are the catalyst
For my mind to dream

I just imagine I'm a kite
Twisting