In his last days he let the worn earth rest,
Unbridled his mare, loosed the sheep to graze,
Unleashed the hounds to run familiar paths
And turned aside from all his toilsome ways.
A little time for calm, for looking back
On the long furrows spread across the years,
On the lost faces, the young hands,
The eyes caught up within a glance of tears.
His was a quiet gazing on the hills.
He let the yellow days and seasons pass.
He shared with earth an unaccustomed peace—
After abundant harvest, the aftergrass.