A whirlwind of shiny hearts and pink confetti, you're the month of love.
Red frosted treats, diamond rings, and babies in October.
Frozen and fast, you never last, the ghost of the year, you disappear. Incomplete, no closure, a quick breathless tryst that thrusts us into Spring.
Days missing at the end of the last week, you're a puzzle with lost pieces.
Every year, you make no sense, like a passionate Valentine from a secret admirer, you ramble on. Substance.
You have it.
Rich with history, full of love, your purpose propels us forward into living.
You're the feeding tube for March.
Your rank on the calendar proves your spine is strong.
Resilient, with so much affection, yet the weather overwhelms your harvest.
Oh, how you're the "Little Engine That Could", the scapegoat of the year, the little guy, the underdog, and the one who perseveres annually.
You hurt my face, but you warm my heart.
With a scarf and gloves I would embrace you!
You're a blizzard of hope and new beginnings.
The end of a cold season, and a reminder that better days are ahead.
The pungent smell of wildflowers, the hum of honeybees, and the warmth of sunshine are all right at the end of our fingertips, as we patiently move through your month.
When you're over.
We're relieved.
We don't look back.
It's not personal.
It's because you did your job.
You sent us on to where we need to be.

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