The Decision

His head lolls upon his pack

His jaw gone slack with sleep

Of our converse he has lost the track

His breathing's soft and deep

So too the lines upon his face

Graven by strife and joy and sorrow

A life of earnest toil and grace

With the slightest time left him to borrow

It was he who most insistent urged

This outing beneath stone and bough

That we might together attempt to purge

The grief none others are left to know

When did his beard turn to aged iron?

When did his brisk step flag?

I stoke the heat from our dying fire

And fetch the blanket from out our bag

He knows the yearning of my heart

Grown keen from our bereavement

He resists the moment when we must part

Though ne'er permits that we should speak of it.

The woolen blanket beneath his chin

Recalls one silken and gold to my eyes

But this a shroud to wrap a friend

For every mortal dies

Flame's endless greed a new branch devours

I settle in to guard his rest

The night expires by star-marked hours

I know I cannot pass this test

The gulls are ever more in my ears

To all but the sea am I blind

I cannot mourn when spent are my tears

And I shall not leave him behind