“The grief therapist will see you now.”
the perky redhead told us.
Her rolling hips then led the way
majestically before us..

Final arrangements must be made.
as our loved one is gone;
Melvin joined the choir invisible
singing his swan song.

He had been fading badly,
and we knew the end was near.
Now he’s a mortuary client,
pausing  for his final bier..

Thank God for prearrangement
or we truly would be gored.
It gets to be quite expensive
when you’re sleeping with the Lord.

He’s shuffled off this mortal coil
and brought the curtain down.
Soon he’ll be checking out the grass
from six feet underground..

Melvin has given up the ghost.
He was snuffed out in his prime.
He cashed his chips in early,
passing on before his time.

“Your loved one’s in a better place.”
The Undertaker gravely said..
“His ancestors have embraced him
in a place of light, not dread.”

Some will say he kicked the bucket,
checked out early, bought the farm.
The religious say he’s with the Lord,
The perpetual light is on.

Melvin, were he here with us,
more likely would have said
a better place for him would be
that redhead’s poster bed.