At Long Last Poem by Mark Heathcote

Release me from my daily chores
I am tired of these day-to-day rigours
This daily grind, one man's labour
Is payment for another man's play hour?

Release me from this trivial toil.
I am tired of my guarded parole
A weekend here, a day off there
I want to go as I please without a care.

But is this final chapter ours to cherish
Loafing like a ripe peach about to perish.
At long last, our retirement is at hand
Slipping through our fingers like hourglass sand.

Planning what gravestone suits us both best
Spending a little from our treasure chest
Changing the mattress on our iron bed
Knowing one day soon we'll be both dead.

Won't it be leisurely watching the sun go down?
Seeing you walking ghostly in your nightgown
With nothing pressing on your mind
No longer worrying, feeling maligned.