We Like March, His Shoes Are Purple, Poem by Emily Dickinson
We Like March, His Shoes Are Purple,
Rating: ★4.5
We like March, his shoes are purple,
He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
Makes he forest dry;
Knows the adder's tongue his coming,
And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
Bold it were to die
With the blue-birds buccaneering
On his British sky.
Tuesday, May 15, 2001
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4/19/2024 7:39:16 AM # 1.0.0.1119
