(after Kipling, sort of. . .)
You can write a brief t'day
An' make the client pay
For all them wherefors, ids and ipso loci,
But when your race is run
Was the pantin' paid in fun,
Or jes' with shiny cars and Oyster Rollie?
Cause when you lay a-dyin'
An your grown-up kids is cryin'
'Cause they know your mortal coil's all unsprung,
It'll be a damnsight better
Reminiscin' 'bout the laughter
Then 'bout your cash, and registers you rung.
When shiny coins are twinklin'
An yer deafened by the tinklin'
Of your golden trove mountin' ever higher,
Think back to six or seven,
When you were nearer Heaven,
Was your goal to be a Heisman-Trophy buyer?
I'll bet not, I'll bet you thought
To be like mom or pop,
Or ridin' herd on longhorns on the range,
To be good and true and loving
(Never venal, never shoving),
It took a lot of years to make us change.
I recommend we ponder
Upon the great up-yonder
Before the Doc sez "We done all we could,"
A' size up where we are
Where we're goin', and how far
An whether all our gettin' is for good.