We like March, his shoes are purple, He is new and high; Makes he mud for dog and peddler, Makes he forest dry; Knows the adder's tongue his coming, And begets her spot. Stands the sun so close and mighty That our minds are hot. News is he of all the others; Bold it were to die With the blue-birds buccaneering On his British sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE'S MIRACLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TWO POEMS FROM THE WAR: 2 by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH OLD MAN by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER |