Early morn' her door whined
open. Content to see her rest,
he strode off to grab the black .45
and one decrepit lawn chair.

Out across the pasture marched the man.
Still too young to die
though he did not look it.
The malignancy flushed from his veins;
a bleeding, seeping hole left in place.

But now, the sun was rising
and with it,
painless rest at last.