In the Midst of Life

RETIREMENT

It’s some years since

I felt my servant’s discontent;

The vigour of his service seemed to pall.

I noticed this without undue dismay

At first.

The sometime faltering foot

Or wheezing breath

Or jack-knife on the exit from a car —

All brushed beneath the carpet

Of my mind —

An easy-going master.

But the incidents grew more

Till, patience fled, I turned on him,

Upbraided him with negligence, or worse.

He said: ‘Your lifetime, now

I’ve been your faithful slave,

Attending to your every need,

Drew in clean air for you

And made your blood,

Remodelled you from food,

Ejected what was not required,

Enabled you to see and hear

This varied world;

Gave you mobility,

Produced your thoughts and passions.

But now, at last, I’m weary,

Wish to rest,

Return to earth and air

Which nourished me,

As all things must,

While you go free.

What say you, master?

Will you grant me my release?’

‘That is not mine to do,’

I countered;

‘I serve too;

I serve one who

Would rage at my presumption

If I gave you leave to go.

He is the great Disposer.

For Him, it’s you who must depart,

Give notice, go,

Not wait for your release.’

And so it was;

My servant went

And left me here and everywhere,

No longer part but whole.

— Philip Worth