Batterton DobynsDid my widow flit aboutFrom Mackinac to Los Angeles,Resting and bathing and sitting an hourOr more at the table over soup and meatsAnd delicate sweets and coffee?I was cut down in my primeFrom overwork and anxiety.But I thought all along, whatever happensI’ve kept my insurance up,And there’s something in the bank,And a section of land in Manitoba.But just as I slipped I had a visionIn a last delirium:I saw myself lying nailed in a boxWith a white lawn tie and a boutonnière,And my wife was sitting by a windowSome place afar overlooking the sea;She seemed so rested, ruddy and fat,Although her hair was white.And she smiled and said to a colored waiter:“Another slice of roast beef, George.Here’s a nickel for your trouble.”
Did my widow flit aboutFrom Mackinac to Los Angeles,Resting and bathing and sitting an hourOr more at the table over soup and meatsAnd delicate sweets and coffee?I was cut down in my primeFrom overwork and anxiety.But I thought all along, whatever happensI’ve kept my insurance up,And there’s something in the bank,And a section of land in Manitoba.But just as I slipped I had a visionIn a last delirium:I saw myself lying nailed in a boxWith a white lawn tie and a boutonnière,And my wife was sitting by a windowSome place afar overlooking the sea;She seemed so rested, ruddy and fat,Although her hair was white.And she smiled and said to a colored waiter:“Another slice of roast beef, George.Here’s a nickel for your trouble.”