By B. Gallatin
Published: October 16, 2007

I myself am now retired

With naught a thing required

No more greasing of the wheel

Oft-times wondered how I'd feel

Wake as I please, when the sun is high

Neither bells nor whistles, to make me sigh

Stare at my ceiling, where I lay

Shall I get up, or shall I stay

No traffic jams, to and from the town

I go the opposite way, the long way round

No pretense, to like someone

No more deadlines, under the gun

No reports of material losses

No excuses to irate bosses

I neither take nor give, orders

Imagination makes my borders

Free to think, free as the breeze

Free to do, what I damn well please