When times comes for me to be worm food, this is what my obit should say:
It comes as not much of a shock
Here lies the remains of Walk
Born a pipeliner's son
He never owned a golden gun
Instead he turned to the pen
And wrote of mice and men
Words was his prey
Until he fell into the bay
He sank like a rock
Our good friend Walk.
Here lies the remains of Walk
Born a pipeliner's son
He never owned a golden gun
Instead he turned to the pen
And wrote of mice and men
Words was his prey
Until he fell into the bay
He sank like a rock
Our good friend Walk.
2 comments:
I remember when we all went nutso writing these!
Here lies Gully
In a snit,
Not pen nor paper
In her casket.
"tis Halloween. Think mine will just say - Anonymously gone.
Post a Comment