[MARCH AND THE BOYS.]
MARY D. BRINE.
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; And 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.
