March blows its schizophrenic, furious blast

Of snow, of rain, of wind, of cold. It clings

To every ledge. It struggles, strains to last

For one more precious day. But April brings

The spring at last. It pushes some to live,

To sow fresh fields, to reaffirm the hope

In life reborn. And compelled then to give

To others needing more, who need a rope

To which to cling while one who has will share

A bounty born of labor on the land,

Of selfless desire, being ones who care

For hopeless ones who live lives built on sand.

They do but what they can, to do the right

Thing. Only men of God still fight the fight.