Author's End

Wait until the sun sets over the distant hill, Water then the flowers on the far window sill. Turning down the curtain that will keep out the night, One can sit in silence with the words yet to write. One more cup of coffee, another page has come; Bad guys are now standing at the end of a gun. Only two more chapters are currently in plan, Then off to the printers, the next writing at hand. One day he will retire to a mountain retreat; No more the endless days, no more nights without sleep. Might just take up fishing down at the river's bend, Enjoying the quiet so far from the pretend. He knows they'll come looking, seems they always want more; Yet no one understands when pleasure turns to chore. Through the riches hard earned he's lost more than he's won; Weariness has taken toll and this author's now done.