The ground's still cold at the end of May,
And all I want is another day.
Winter will come far too soon,
As middays lapse into afternoons.

Crickets tweet despite the dark,
And I don't run though all dogs bark.
You never know what's past the trees,
As Betelgeuse glimmers too faint to see.

Hacking out verses numbingly hones
That strange sad effort to make here home.