March croons again and again
But I would rather greet the sun
Or play with the wind blown dirt
March whispers again and again
“Another number is here”
Does she know
I can barely get two and four to agree?
March whispers again and again
But God am weary
My bones do ache
March and her tambourines
Can go to the sun
And bake
I have no business with Aging.

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