four score
and four
a good run
and the good son
tramps behind
dogging the old
man’s heels
to that camp
and the fire
built against
the night
to the bedroll
that invites
tired bones
to lie down
and listen
watch the dying
embers fade
to crackling
heat and shadow
then fall into
the deep sleep
his body needs
so sound
there’s no memory
of a dream