My Writing's Not Yet Done

When I shall die
And in my casket lie
Lost in eternal sleep
No reason there to weep
Rested in deepest slumber
Gone will be my laughter
My eyes will be closed
Like a withered red rose
And no more to hear
The songs I hold dear
Quietly like the setting sun
At close of day, I will be gone.

But not yet, for my writing's not yet done.