March First, Rain  (a revision of a poem written March 1, 2015)

March pours. Through a leafy threshold :

a sodden lioness rains out muffled roars.

Tired eyes search everywhere, 

she aches aloud for three cubs

left wandering.

They thirst for mother's breast, her smell their home.

A mass of matted fur like woolen amber,

she roams alone. Close to earth, she

flows so still, drenched thick

in tatted whiskers, her silence longs

for this clumsy trio.

Her cat-heart's instinct to protect 

streams from a well of love clear down,

deep within dangerous feline bones.

She slinks through bush,

purrs sky-music,

and measures breaths

of lyrics that sing and soak 

Springtime's orphans clean.

Her treasures, they, March's

weathered children.

Listen, can you hear maternal paws

rip through your back door screen

as four creatures bring the family

storm straight home?