We Like March By Emily Dickinson

we-like-march-emily-dickinson-poems-collectionWe 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.


We Like March by Emily Dickinson

See also  Sonnet [Wherefore Doth Vaine Antiquitie So Vaunt] by Edmund Spenser
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