MARCH, AND THE BOYS.
MARCH, you're a jolly old fellow, I know;
They may call you a blustering old chap but you blow
For us boys and our kites, and we don't care a fig
For the hats and the dust that go dancing a jig.
Puff out, you old fellow, blow hard or blow high,
At our kites you may bluster, and " blow them sky-high!"
Nobody will find any fault but the girls—
And they make a fuss 'cause you "blow out their curls!''
You 're just our own season we've waited for you;
Our kites are all ready, so strong and so new!
You jolly old fellow, if you were a boy,
You'd know why the March-month gives us such joy.
It is fun to stand high on the top of a hill,
And pay out your string let it run with a will;
It is fun to "hold hard" while your kite pulls away,
And the wind blows a gale! Ah, kite-flying is gay.
The ladies complain that you "blow off their veils;"
But never you mind, give no heed to their tales,
Devote yourself wholly to boys and their kites,
And trust to the boys to fight hard for your rights:
For, March, you're the jolliest old fellow we know,
And we like you the better the harder you blow!
When you marched in upon us we gave you a shout,
And we'll miss you at last when 'tis time to march out!—
Wide Awake.