When breezing through, the green pasture of trees ; blowing through,
In and out of life. March in and out of time.
March, is here! In
Time because of reason, in any season. Leaves
start to fall;
And then life becomes a trip, from green to brown. Falling down,
To the ground; to where, there is no crown. Life is green, and
then it withers, away. Blown away, and then victory is gone; trying
To beat, the wind. For the winds of the season; gives March its rea-
Sons when it comes in any season of time. Life was great; until,
The great fall. Drying, with out trying. For ; there is no meaning
When the green pasture of life, is gone. Spotted as a leaf, and
Yellow as the summer sun. The leaves of life ; met with the forces
Of March ; and that is, the wind.
When you know it takes a lot not to win; then you know, it came from
the winds of March.