Sleep, that knits up all those loosened threads
and ragged cares, repairs the body’s decline
and sets tired bones quiet, untroubled,
becomes a joy the young hound never knew.
He lies, racing in dreams those boundless fields,
soft breathing, paws twitching,
content to nose the sun on waking,
walk sedately through the dry grass
and remember other mad times,
green and hot-blooded times,
when heart, legs and supple spine
gave him the power of flight.