March In March the wind blows down the door And spills my soup upon the floor It laps it up and roars for more Blowing once, blowing twice Blowing chicken soup with rice
Geeeeze Loueeeeeze, I did it again! I forgot to post the poem for March. We're heading to the last of the verses, though I didn't start them the same way Sendak did. I started in July. Maybe that what is throwing off my inner scheduling.
Yes, this March has been windy so far. It better not spill my soup upon the floor - I just cleaned and waxed it!