When I am old-much older-
And look down from up above,
I will be terribly ashamed
at what's left for those I love.
A stack of paper four feet tall,
unfinished tales and troubles,
the manuscripts of genius skill
akin to Flintstone, or of Rubble.
I think of when I'm carried out
my feet leading out the door
And the faces of my inheritors
that were expecting more.
Sorry nieces and nephews,
I wasn't much for hoarding money.
Instead I tried, insipidly,
at trying to be funny...