Bitter coffee notes,
strawberries, habaneros;
A mixed aroma;
It smells like when you are here
but still cannot feel my gaze.
Some like to say “give up the ghost”,
To mean forever abandoning your post.
The rowdy ones prefer to kick the bucket,
Though that would surely make a racket.
Many are said to bite the dust,
When they’re catching the skyward bus.
A gambler would likely cash in his chips,
Hope he’ll change his winnings into tips.
I knew someone who turned up his toes,
When on habaneros he overdosed.
The more vocally inclined tend to croak,
Then become quieter than a dead oak.
My granduncle may soon fall off his perch,
For both food and sex he has lost the urge.
We will soon shuffle off this mortal coil,
Pack it up and immigrate to the soil.
You’re scheduled to go the way of all flesh,
Whether your figure is average or a smash.
It’s no great tragedy to breathe one’s last,
If regrets are few and life’s been a blast.
When I’m ready to sail to heaven’s arch,
Raise a toast and wish me bon voyage!
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