A letter to my lords and ladies,

The ones who always served me,

Who fought all of my wars and battles,

Though it wasn't always freely,

You were not my puppets,

And for this I thank you,

Your struggles made my stories,

All the troubles that you went through,

All of the time you rebelled against me

You made me a better writer,

Even though I made you suffer;

But I knew that you were fighters,

Though this is all but fiction,

I've come to think you friends,

You'll still have meaning in my heart,

When your story ends,

I can be a cruel master,

Made you fight against tide and wave,

And still you took it all,

Ever loyal and brave,

I am not sorry for your suffering,

Your trouble or your strife,

Though it sometimes hurts me

To put unhappiness in your life,

I am but your creator,

Your actions were your own,

And though you were my servants,

I have you on a loan,

No matter what I threw your way,

You always served me well,

Greatly when I showed you heaven,

Better when I gave you hell,

And though I made you work

You often made me work, too,

And though I may have gave you hell,

I got the same from you

Each time you rebelled,

Against my will you'd fight,

Though sometimes you were wrong,

And often you were right,

You were not my puppets,

Though I may be your master,

And I could hold you back,

But I fear you would run faster,

So please accept these words,

This time the ink won't cut,

And know that having you serve me,

Was more to me than luck,

But was in fact an honour,

To have you as my knights,

And to put you through my battles

On my long and sleepless nights,

And all of you should know

That I thank you very much,

And next time I kick you over

I'll be waiting with the crutch,

And this story means so much to me

I dread that it must end,

But it must, so take these words,

From your creator, and your friend.