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by Norman
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2290908
He never lived a wealthy life.
You could not find a smiling face
among the gathered crowd.
And they all spoke in whispered tones;
nobody talked out loud.

No one had seen our uncle much;
for years he lived alone.
To my regret, I never once
had called him on the phone.

At one time he’d been very rich.
Oh, everybody knew.
He’d never lived a wealthy life
as you or I might do.

But in his final year on Earth
he somehow found a way
to squander all the wealth he had
or give it all away.

There was no money in his will.
He had not left a cent.
Yes, every dollar, every dime,
oh, everything was spent.

And so we grieved for our own loss
as we sat in those pews.
We all thought we would be well off
until we heard the news.

And here we all sat teary eyed
and mourned him now he’s dead.
If we’d been closer when he lived
we might have smiles instead.

But this is how he wanted it.
I don’t blame him at all.
I’ll bet he’s smiling to himself
beneath that coffin pall.

I guess that’s how I’d want to go
when I get old and die.
Who wants to have a happy crowd?
I’d rather have them cry.

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