The Approach of Spring

The wind is whistling all around,
But it cannot get at me.
It has ruffled the sandy beach
    And roughened the dark gray sea.

Sand whirls and twirls here and there,
    Shaping circle, curve and arch;
The wind blows a swift and stormy gale.
    I’m sure it’s the month of March.

Now it whistles its dismal song,
    Telling of the approaching King
April, who will follow on.
    I’m sure we’ll then have spring.