On his deathbed lay poor old Jim,
hardly any strength left to him,
and he was thinking as he lay:
"I'll just lie here and die today, "
when he perceived a lovely smell,
wife baking cookies, he could tell.
This smell of cookies gave him hope;
no longer did he want to mope.
He'd lost his voice; he couldn't call,
but thought that maybe he could crawl
down to the kitchen for a treat;
those cookies would be hard to beat.
And so he tumbled out of bed,
banged up his elbows, bumped his head,
looked himself over, just to find
another bruise on his behind,
but started forward, past some chairs,
then slipped and tumbled down the stairs.
The only way he moved along
was that sweet cookie smell, so strong.
He's in the kitchen now at last,
and all his strength is fading fast.
A kitchen chair's a welcome sight;
it helps him pull himself upright.
A mound of cookies sitting there
makes him feel like a millionaire.
His hand now stretches to the plate
when it is smashed by some great weight!
"You can't have those! " his wife calls out.
"They're for the funeral, you lout! "
I think Hazel's comment seemed " generous" to you BECAUSE she exaggerated to make you feel even better than you already were feeling, Old Guy! ! but, alas, i admit that i too laughed, but not TOO loudly, at the ending. Actually the whole poem deserves to go to MyPoemList. Poor f+king husband. Then again, lucky to be rid of his wife soon. What a witch! ! they look like Toll House Ch. Chip Cookies my ma made, with my help, i think. i KNOW i helped eat them. bri :)
A humorous write, sir Kim. Congrats on your simultaneous wins....10+++
Thank you, Bernard. It was very surprising to take first, second and third!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is absolutely hilarious! I laughed until my ribs hurt! To MyPoemList and five stars!