March

I love you
like March loves
it’s trees.

Like morning sun
that kiss awake
those tender
blooming lips.

Like southern winds
that gently flirt
those flying
locks of leaves.

I love you
like March loves
it’s trees.

Oh what am I
but a failed poet
and you my
hidden muse.

Let loving you
like summers do
this March be
my excuse.

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