March

Spring is the best time of the year.
But one day in spring comes only once a year.

I’ve known it forever, I’d never forget.
It’s been there since the beginning, permanently set.

Once a year, on this day, I grow one year older.
Not a lot, not too much, just a little bit older.

Every single year, they keep coming and coming.
One by one, they don’t seem to be stopping.

Soon I’ll wish they didn’t come so quickly.
Eight, then eighteen, soon I’ll be eighty.

Older and older, this clock won’t stop ticking.
But when it stops ticking, my live I’ll stop living.