A few days more,

A month, a year,

And he will be too far

To feel the sun,

Too far to hear

The crows caw.

One spring more

For one who saw

Nearly a hundred

Come and go.

A little aimless work,

Pain to slow

His old limbs,

Through only a month,

A year,

And he will be too far

To ever hear

The rain,

Beyond all pain.

Into the past

His mind will go,

Deep and deep,

Then at last

The easy bliss

Of final sleep.

Only this and only this