If somewhere a clerk
with self-righteous smirk
records my acts of folly.

He'll underline twice,
this only bad vice,
I'm never melancholy.

Grief, masked by my laugh
earns choice epitaph,
"He's always been jolly!"

While others might cry
or soulfully sigh
faced with disaster or worse

I don't want to frown,
but laugh, play the clown
providing whimsical verse.

When comes my last day,
I'll beg for delay
as exit lines, I rehearse.

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