QUITS
Life made no easy truce with me,He set no white flag on my road;Unshod he thrust me to the trailAnd 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 shareTo 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 rainYear-long blow past my rough, brown tent—Joy with you till we meet again!