February Days are cold and dark,
I hate this month I find it stark.
Thre trees are bare the weather cold,
The snow shoveling gets mighty old.
There’s no relief in sight for me,
I hate this month, as you can see.
March always arrives in time,
And sometimes a spring day we’ll find.
At least in March you sometimes see,
A robin or two on the dogwood tree.
I hope, this year, that February flees,
And brings an early spring for me.