I learned a morbid poem when I was little and cannot attend a funeral without it running through my mind.
"Don't you laugh when the hearst goes by,
For you may be the next to die!
First they wrap you in a big white sheet,
The throw you in a hole about 6 feet deep.
All goes well for about a week,
Then your casket springs a leak.
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
The worms play pinochle on your snout.
And those little green bugs with the great big eyes
Eat you guts and play in your eyes.
Then your body turns a ghastly green and pus comes out like whipping cream.
And me without my spoon."
Now you won't be able to attend a funeral without the thoughts of this poem going thhrough your head.
