It is said by some of life’s deepest thinkers
That penning one’s Will can be a bit of a stinker.
Another wise owl opined: One can ameliorate
This problem if one were to create
A letter of wishes.
What should such a list contain
If raised passions we are to constrain?
‘The fondest of my post death wishes
Is you party, ignore the dishes,
Cover all with happy kisses
And someone take care of the missus…’
But even before they celebrate a life
There’s guidance needed to avoid strife:
What to do with his body, for pity’s sake?
Would he want to be buried or baked?
Donate him; embalm him?
Let’s face it, you’re not going to harm him.
And whatever route you decide to go
It’ll cost a barrow load of dough.
Perhaps it would be for the best
If you recycled him, with all the rest
Of his crap. All that random stuff
Of which we’ve had enough:
The unreadable notebooks
The misshapen cloths on hooks,
The lack of valuable jewels
The rusty box of tools
The hats and caps of many sizes
The shades and specs to cover his eyes
Bits of fossilised raptors
Remedies for colds
Boxes (under the stairs)
Of Socks (not in pairs).
My Gilbert O’Sullivan LPs
Supports for dodgy knees
An old dog’s muzzle
A stirrup pump, rather sclerotic
Health magazines, not at all erotic
First Day covers
Something of mother’s…
No, just dump it all
Have a ball
All I ask
Is keep hold of the memories…
The good ones, anyway.