The Writer

A small paradise island, In the Caribbean Sea, Rain comes once a year, Sure does sound like ecstasy. It’s not in travel brochures, And there is no airport here, The population’s seventy, Not all of them appear! A cabin on the waterfront, No need to lock the doors, A haven for a writer, Whose life needs a little pause. The laptop on the worktop, Shouting out for a new chapter, No internet to access, Without finding an adaptor. The wine bottles are chilling, To go with the evening meal, A fish caught just this afternoon, Does so much now appeal. No television to tune in, The Radio not clear, But nobody is caring, When they see the lifestyle here. The preface and three chapters, To be finished by July, It’s not on track but soon he’ll be, Inspired by the sky. He’s got his tan researching, While he lay there on the deck, But sometimes he gets word blind, It’s a real pain in the neck. But then he thinks about this life, That he’s always desired, He thinks about his characters, He’s soon again inspired. No pattern to his writing, He just scribes when in the mood, He pauses for a drink or two, Of course when he needs food. He said he’d write a masterpiece, That’s still what he intends, But for the length it’s taking, He will have to make amends. Another chapter finished, To the publisher conveyed, No reasons or excuses, Why again he was waylaid. Now on the final chapter, His conclusion due next week, He’s finishing the epilogue, Now on his winning streak. He sends it to the publisher, Who says he has no equal, They say “we love you, please ensure You’re quicker with the sequel”!