I took the pen with me, After signing the parlor guest book, At the Home.
You might think of forgiving me, Thinking as good people do, I took it as a memorial sticking point; But I didn't know the deceased.
I was acting as a devout escort, To be seen as doing the right thing. Perception, you've been told, Is everything.
So, I made sure no one saw me Take the pen.
For extra insurance, To project my semblance, Following the eulogies, I attended the luncheon, And ate salmon sandwiches, And carrot sticks. On leaving, I grasped the hands: Sorry for your troubles; Came home and used that pen, To create this. The End.