Here lies Jack, in a small wooden box
Under six feet of dirt, sod and rocks
Mourners utter no breath
Of his horrible death
But the specter of suffering mocks.
Kate was never the virtuous kind
To ignite burning lust she designed
Though her morals were lax
Let us not make attacks
Rather hope that some peace she will find.
Chester bickered at spending a dime
And his wife called him "sweet as a lime"
When informed, that at last
The old miser had passed
His three daughters said, "It's about time!"
Grace was 99 at her life's end
And to heaven her soul did ascend
But her funeral rites
Oh, the saddest of sights!
There was nobody left to attend.
Once again, fate has bitterly stung
And has snuffed out a life much too young
As we gathered around
She was laid in the ground
While lugubrious dirges we sung.
© September 28, 2004 by Allan M. Heller
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