March
Wind
A kite
Flying high
A long string tail
Clutched in Youth’s hopeful hand
Chasing a dream.
Wind
Winds of change
Blowing me about
Shall I? Can I?
Grasp the high ideal
And chase another dream?
Wilma Gundy
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At the time I wrote this poem I was retiring and I attempted to convey my anxiety about what I might be able to do. As I reflect back, I believe I did okay.
It was the first of the poems I wrote about the months of the year.