The Last Ones Chosen Poem by Robert Winthrop

It could have been for any game or for a spelling bee,
Or maybe for flag football or Ollie Ollie Oxen Free.
I'm sure we all remember them, this girl and this boy,
They were the last ones chosen, we'll call them Tom and Joy.
He was short and skinny, and she was somewhat plump,
And she wore horn-rimmed glasses. and he was just their chump.
And when the captain of the team called out a different name,
They were the last ones chosen, no matter what the game.
They seemed resigned to what would come; they knew they'd be the last.
It seemed to be their lot in life; they knew the die was cast.
The years flew by, we did not know what path these 'losers' took,
But he became a minister, and she became a cook.
And when we all had ceased to be, we stood on Judgment Day,
And once again we saw these two, the last along the way.
St. Peter looked at each of us, then passed us by and said,
'Today the last is first, my friends, and first is last instead.'
We stood there in amazement when right through the Pearly Gate.
These two went skipping hand in hand, and we were forced to wait.