Memory Of The Cold! Poem by Eric Cockrell

stirring the ashes
with loving hands,
kneeling down, cupping,
and gently blowing.

i'll set out a rose bush
beneath your bedroom window,
and water it in the dead of night.

the shadow that latches your door,
pulls the cover up around you.
sits and rocks in the peace
of perfect silence...
watching you sleep!

i am the wolf that curls
at the foot of your bed,
the hands of the clock,
stopping in reverence...

the flame that bursts
from ashes almost cold,
catches, and burns away
the memory of the cold!