poisson d'avril

March came in lamb-coloured at least, on curly white snow feet.

And went out like a liar, savannah bright sun looking lion roaring heat.

Tripping cold feet, tricking me into scarf and sweater instead of jacket leather.

April’s first folly finds me in bed with a hot head cold.

Mais, en français, avril premiers with a fish not a fool.

I guess the poisson’s on me.
. . . . .