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.
