QUITS
Life made no easy truce with me,
He set no white flag on my road;
Unshod he thrust me to the trail
And laughed the while he piled my load.
Greeting, old master! Greeting, friend!
I’ve made you friend; I’ve fought you fair;
I’ve stumbled, fallen, scrambled up;
Yet somehow borne the appointed share
To this last station. Take the pack;
Sort, weigh it—lack or over-due,
Still here’s the load; the climb was mine,
Scars, road-marks—all the rest to you.
We’re done; shake hands before we part.
I rest here—feel the wind and rain
Year-long blow past my rough, brown tent—
Joy with you till we meet again!