A poem for the second month.
Short and swift,
A hare in the forest racing against March,
Who is so much longer and stronger.
Every four years, she tries to even the odds a little by taking the extra day
The Calendar gives her.
Not that it helps.
She follows January and tries to ignore March’s snapping at her heels.
Just a little farther now. A few more days
And she’ll be able to rest and take
an 11-month nap until the Calendar wakes her up again.
To follow January once more.
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