COMES THE END OF FEBRUARY

COMES THE END OF FEBRUARY

Comes the end of February,
I pray its death be mild.
Knocking on the door of March
As timid as a child.
A child that has been battered
By its cruel relentless cold.
An oaf ignored by Father Time,
A school child who would sell his soul,
For just one tender valentine.

Comes the end of February,
I wish its death be swift.
Like the frail old lady who can no longer walk
And must now ride the chair lift.
Huffing and puffing and breathing her last,
May Cupid throw his rusty arrow,
And kill off February fast.

Before it can foster another fall,
On the dreaded sidewalk ice,
A clean, clear break from winter,
Let that God forsaken sheen just splinter.
A painless death is always nice.

Comes the end of February,
I am not sad to see it go,
I used to love the velvet touch
Of a cool and frosty snow.
But now my steps are heavier,
My breathing.starts to labor,
I clutch these blossoms to my bosom,
Both talisman and saber.

Truth be told of life I'm weary,
Eyes are sleepy, vision bleary,
Like a college senior who prays to pass his final test.
Bury me in the flowers of April,
And lay me lovingly to rest.

Let March come in like a blissful lamb,
Let Easter flowers bloom,
Let the irises come early,
To anoint me with their sweet perfume.

Comes the end of February,
The longest short month ever,
Knocking on the door of March,
Begging for sweet sanctuary,
From its harsh and bitter weather.
Like some hapless, harmless oaf.
Who longs like me to lie down and loaf,
In the folds of springtime heather.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED