Late Spring Frost Poem by Eric Cockrell

spreading straw over young plants,
to protect from a late spring frost.
counting nickels, dimes, and quarters,
to pay the rent.
turning down the pot to simmer slow,
listening to the news with a hollow ache.,
thoughts come and go, the air still chill.
nothing changes much, except the date.
a half a tank of gas, and a borrowed hoe...
hands moving in silence, back to the sun.

death waits patiently, like an old friend.
never asking for much, in a corner by the door.
the terror of living comes in gasps that tremble,
always afraid to leave something undone.
the book unsigned gathers dust on the table,
the old dog groans with knowing surety.
days marked on the calendar, invisible ink...
spreading straw over young plants,
to protect from the late spring frost!