We all know someone that over-exaggerates their symptoms, or thinks they’re dying every time they get a sniffle and you know to take their complaints of gripes, aches and ailments with a pinch of salt – if you’re thinking “I don’t know anyone like that in my circle” then it’s you.
This particular poem was written for the granddaughter of an old lady who has decided that she’s old now so it’s obviously time to die and threw a “Going Away” party for herself. This poem was read out during the proceedings.
I was sorry to hear that you’re “dying”,
I thought you would go on for years.
Yet halo and wings you are buying,
And angels are soon to be peers.
Now off your mortal coil you will shuffle.
Your bucket will finally be kicked.
Your drum is about to be muffled.
Your bud is about to be nipped.
Do you happen to know when you’re going?
Only you really don’t look all that ill.
It’s just, before you get where you’re going,
Be sure, put my name in your Will…
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