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Poem	Said Brown: 'I can't afford to die For I have bought annuity, And every day of living I Have money coming in to me: While others toil to make their bread I make mine by not being dead.' Said Jones: 'I can't afford to die, For I have books and books to write. I do not care for pelf but I Would versify my visions bright; Emotions noble in my breast By worthy words should be expressed.' Said Smith: 'I can't afford to die, Because my life is kindly planned; So many on my care rely, For comfort and a helping hand. Too many weak ones need me so, And will be woeful when I go.' Then Death appraisingly looked down, Saying: 'Your time's up, Mister Brown. And I am sorry, Mister Jones, The earth is ready for your bones. Friend Smith, although you're overdue Your lease of living we'll renew . . . Both fame and fortune far above, What matters in the end is--Love.'
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