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.
Oren O. Cousins (Copyright by Oren O. Cousins 2003 (All rights reserved)