We like March – his
Shoes are Purple.
He is new and high –
Makes he Mud for
Dog and Peddler –
Makes he Forests ↑ t ↓ Dry –
Knows the Adders 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 –