Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
You said that life is pretty short
and that we should not think
that we are people of a sort
who save and rather drink
the cheapest wine under the sun.
Then, when I came to visit you,
you poisoned me, why did you Hon?
You fed me tasty Hemlock brew.
And did you kill me for the reason
that you could spend that gold of mine?
And drink the best dropp of the season
and send me where the sun don't shine?
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