Oh February, month so weird. . . .

Oh Feb-ru-ary, month so weird,
of sunny days your sky is cleared,
so fair and foul it makes me howl,
with threats of storms we be afeard.

For various and sundry reasons
frequently we praise the seasons,
but Feb-ru's air? A blast I dread
and oft just want to stay in bed
(reading of course to gather some force)!

Through bleakest cloud we schlep and strive,
my plants are barely still alive.
A month so short it should not faze
and yet we stumble through its haze.

March may tease and not so please
but I for one am glad Feb's done.
There is no glad, it makes me sad
to fashion verses oh so bad. . . .

(This may not pack the punch I seek-
a New York winter makes me weak-
my post bespeaks an arctic creak,
but I did banish Feb this week!)