In March’s breeze, beneath the sun’s warm gaze, Amidst the rustling leaves and blossomed days, I find myself lost in worlds anew, In pages turned, where dreams pursue.
Mansfield Park, with its genteel grace, Whispers secrets of a bygone place, Where love and society entwine, In Austen’s prose, a world divine.
A Room of One’s Own, a feminist plea, Virginia Woolf’s voice sets minds free, In March’s air, her words take flight, Empowering souls with literary might.
The Dandelion Seed, a tale so sweet, Drifting on whims, in the wind’s fleet, With every turn, a journey unfurls, In innocence, lies wisdom pearls.
The Old Man and the Sea, a timeless tale, Of struggle, courage, and the ocean’s swell, Hemingway’s masterpiece, weathered and wise, In March’s embrace, its spirit flies.
So let me linger in these literary lands, Where imagination thrives and understanding stands, In March’s reading, I find my way, Through stories old and new, each day.
