Can you guess the job of the old man?

He answered the call to muster

He had a rendezvous with death,

an old gent, he'd avoided many times,

sometimes by only a whisper's breath.

In the distance, he could hear the murmurs,

clear as if they shared a room,

from voices silent for many a year.

For a moment,

he could smell,

cigarette smoke and old leather,

whiskey and sawdust.

Could see his favorite mount - pawing,

jingling his bit - impatient to be gone,

over the horizon and down the trail.

Then the bite of pain,

sharp as a rattlesnake's fang,

brought him back to the here and now.

To a room of disinfectant smells and strangers glances,

his family - stands around, waiting for the end,

wanting it over, yet reluctant to let him go.

Quietly, he smiles,

his left hand beckons the one who will understand,

a silver circle on his breast,

as he leans down,

the old man whispered as he closed his eyes, "It's trails end."