by Lyn Marinello
The roar of the lion
accompanies March.
accompanies March.
Blustery and showy;
a mane without starch.
Boastful and bragging,
baring its teeth,
defending the chill
from what lies underneath.
But wait, there's a bleating,
a meek, tiny ring
that shares with the world
that we're nearing Spring.
And tired from prowling
the lion rests from his sham,
gives way to gentle newness,
lays, at peace, with the lamb.
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