Servies Rendered

Services Rendered On the side street, where the poet took his nightly walk, shots resonated, yelling, and a car driving fast; on the pavement a man´s blood was running into the gutter. The police asked what he had seen? Nothing! You must have seen something? I saw a waterfall running down a mountainside in spring and the air was pure. Gangland murder? Weeks later an envelope in his postbox, five thousand dollars. The poet smiled at last someone had paid him for his poetry