For a week a man laid stiffen,
Was alive for his funeral in his coffin,
He admired the awing voices of the local choir,
For a second forgot why it was grimier,
He disapproved the chosen reverend,
For his summons would go on on end,
He couldn’t get over the irony so strong,
So many heartbeats for a summary a page long,
For a moment he wished he was dead,
For his mother retold childhood stories, turning his face red,
His love for his wife was renewed,
For on her face she had his buttocks tattooed,
He let out a silent one when his friend spoke,
Gas so deadly he could of choke,
He was irritated by his mother-in-law,
Lying that she loved him when he was her daughter’s biggest “flaw”,
His son had his heart overwhelmed,
Saying all the words in his pronunciation realm.
With his joy overflowing,
And the guilty for the tears growing,
The wise man bursted from his hiding place,
Embracing everyone, ignoring their confused face!
You might call the wise man mad,
While we are alive we insult, we make people sad,
But when they die, we utter praises, but they can no longer be glad.
That’s some serious irony.
