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Calaveras 2

My version of a Mexican skull poem.

RIP

Here lies Charles Suddeth

 

Until we gave him his very last rite,

He thought he was one who could write.

 

So bad was each and every book,

It’s a shame he never learned to cook.

 

He never had wealth and money,

And neither did he have a honey.

 

His mourners we hired by the hour,

The same for each and every flower.

 

As we sent him off in his hearse,

We thought it could have been worse.

 

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