Curried Goat

People say the nicest things about you.
Only when you are dead;

They say a male is the lovelier of the specie ,
Only when he is put to pot.

They seek to make you famous,
Only when they plan to put you away;

A ram is nicer than a ewe, they say,
Would win the beauty contest any day,
Among the male and female goats,
When they plan to splay his skin.

My last day is fast approaching,
I shall soon have a holiday,
Whether at wedding , dancehall or wake.
I care not, though present
I shall partake without knowing
In the celebration of my dying.

I am rather particular about my departure,
They must follow to the letter
My special recipe;

I must go out in style;

I object to red bow-ties ,
They usually dislocate the neck.
Worse, I hate the long red ones,
They are apt to stain one’s shirt;

But as I have no choice in the matter,
I am bound to tolerate.

But if anything goes wrong with the curry,
Their stomachs are accountable to me.;

I will be proud about my going,
If in my celebration,.
Everything goes well with them ;

And if anyone suck a bone loudly,
Or lick a finger eagerly,
I will surely pardon him or her,
They may have another plate,
If I am not completely gone.