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!