the end of fiction

a story once released has its own wings
it soars and dives first swiftly and then slow
it travels to places the author dares not go
when to the winds his little tale he flings
announcing in a voice that swells and rings
that what is is and what is so is so
the power and magic in the story flow
telling of life love death and stranger things
the shaping and the making both are rough
but in the telling things become quite clear
and clearer still when letters are on page
to reader and to hearer there's not enough
we wish the tale to go on year by year
and when it ends we feel a sort of rage