Honorable Journalist Poem by Atara Gedalowitz

The writer who'd fought many a war
Finally put down his pen
He stretched, feeling overly sore
Knew he'd never fight again

His armor came off
His wit flew away
He gave a slight cough
Then looked out at the bay

The sun, inspiration, was setting, slowly
It came closer to night
He knew he'd be free

Time had flown by
While he looked ahead
All that was done had been done
All that was said had been said

He'd brandished an unforgettable sword
Made heard his strong battle cry
But now he'd had his last word
Given the world his solemn 'Goodbye.'

For the people he'd stood
For the truth he had spoken
But he now understood
This was his last token

The last words he gave
To the new generation
You might want to save
And give some consideration:

'You can win, you can lose,
Take either with grace.
Here's the big news,
Life's not really a race.'