He did not write again

On the blue sky

The way my story would end,

How and when I would die.

He did not want the rainclouds,

To wash it away in a mocking way

Or be swept by the wind,

He did not want me

To know my end,

He did not bring me to die.

But I know

All stories do end,

So would mine one day.

Only I have to wait

It will not surprise me.