March roared in like a lion in Seattle, though it was hard to tell the difference between that lion and the February lion that roared in four weeks earlier. Lions of the weather variety do plenty of roaring in the Pacific Northwest. Wind, rain, roar, bluster, rain again, roar again.
Maybe what differentiates March from February is the display of primroses everywhere. How do those little flowers face all the roaring...yet remain so cheerful?
For Poetry Friday, I'm offering a little something about wind - though this wind sighs rather than roars. Maybe this is the wind after the lamb has made an appearance. Or maybe it's not really the wind sighing....? The poem was written by the wonderful English writer, Walter de la Mare, and if you don't know his collection titled Peacock Pie, here's my advice: Find it, read it, and revel in it. And read the poems out loud. They were made to be heard.
Tille
Old Tillie Turveycombe
Sat to sew,
Just where a patch of fern did grow;
There as she yawned,
And yawn wide did she,
Floated some seed
Down her gull-e-t;
And look you once,
And look you twice,
Poor old Tille
Was gone in a trice.
But oh, when the wind
Do a-moaning come,
'Tis poor old Tillie
Sick for home;
And oh, when a voice
In the mist do sigh,
Old Tillie Turveycombe's
Floating by.
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| Walter de la Mare... |
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| ...and Walter de la Mare. |
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The Poetry Friday round-up this week is being hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at my juicy little universe. Head over there to see what other people are offering.
