On The Gurney

Now you’d think a man about to die
Would have a better thought.
A prayer, a plea, a passage
From scripture I’d been taught.

A time of quiet solitude
A time of fear at least
While three grave doctors view a chart
Seek to save me from the Beast.

While Reaper stands before me
And whispers I must depart.
The only thought I’m thinking
Is how bad I gotta fart!

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