A March Epitaph

Goodbye to you March, I'm not sorry to say
With your terrain so muddy, your skies so blase.
Of all 31 days of your drizzle and snow
Of your chill and your drabness I mind not let go.

Though today is as March-y as March ere could be
Tomorrow, I heard, it might e'en be fifty!
Now let April rains pour and let May skies be bright
I guess (all in all) that March turned out alright.