by Paul Moore
March is when our Spring begins,
The crocus blooms, the rain descends.
But don’t put on your summer thins,
For March is not when Winter ends.
MY FRIEND OLD BILL
by Leroy Partin
I once had a friend, a very good friend;
His given name was Bill.
Lived way back in Kentucky,
On top of a big old hill.
Bill never did much of anything;
Drank a little moonshine now and then.
Never knew where he was going;
Hardly knew where he had been.
Bill never trusted anyone,
Suspicious as he could be.
But I thought a lot of old Wild Bill;
He was always a friend to me.
Well Old Bill died last week they say;
They buried him there on that hill.
The old boy never did amount to much;
Now I guess he never will.
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