When March Blows
When March blows, and Monday's linen is shown
On the gooseberry bushes, and the worried washer alone
Fights at the soaked stuff, meres and the rutted pools
Mirror the wool-pack clouds and shine clearer than jewels.
And the children throw stones in them, spoil mirrors and clouds.
The worry of washing over, the worry of foods
Brings tea-time; March quietens as the trouble dies.
The washing is brought in under wind-swept clear infinite skies.
On the gooseberry bushes, and the worried washer alone
Fights at the soaked stuff, meres and the rutted pools
Mirror the wool-pack clouds and shine clearer than jewels.
And the children throw stones in them, spoil mirrors and clouds.
The worry of washing over, the worry of foods
Brings tea-time; March quietens as the trouble dies.
The washing is brought in under wind-swept clear infinite skies.
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