Final Rest

Final Rest


I marked your last days
Cropping the early winter grass
And walked up the rise
Through ridges worn like steps
To where you stood head down
And patted the spot where some old saddle had worn you white
Knowing we could send you back to the creator
With a soul that had never been broken
With feet that had been mended
Many times
And a back that had blankets
Against the cold
And eyes that never searched an empty field
So you could rest
But I could tell
By the way you looked
Far-off
Even through the ground
That you had reached the point of passing
But were still here
In the joy of this time
You followed me to the gate
And as I reached to open it
I felt your long face
And breath on my back
And I knew that you were thankful
Even to me
But even more
To the thing that makes grass green
To the sun on your withers
To the field within your vision
And to the light
Even as it faded.