NO TOCK, SO I BACH

I went today to see my heart specialist doc,

He said my heart had a tick, but seldom a tock, 

It made me both sad and happy,

I would soon see my dead pappy,

Soon dad's fiddle I'll hear playing, Johan S. Bach.

MY PET CEMETARY

I have an old pet cemetery, full of old pet bones,

You can go to visit it, but do not disturb the stones,

For under stone and log,

We buried a demon dog,

 Best to just leave him be, for the foul, dead soil, he owns.

GRANDPA'S CAVE, AND SAFETY FIRST

I went to a cemetery to check out a stone,

Where grand pappy was buried,with his skin and his bone,

It took my eyes no guidance,

To observe much subsidence,

The grave did a cave, I left an orange safety cone.

CREMATION: IT'S NOT JUST FOR POOR GRANDPAS ANYMORE

When my birdie died there was a health concern,

So his remains, I was ordered to "quick, burn",

He went into the fire of no return,

Except for ashes in an urn,

Now he sits upon my mantle, next door to grandpa Vern.

GOLDFISH HEAVEN

Heaven is full of goldfish, thanks to me,

Every time I buy one, they live two weeks, maybe three,

The body goes into the toilet bowl,

One flush separates corpse from soul, 

This is as close as my goldfish get to a burial at sea.

I FROZE MY WAY TO HADES

I stepped outside onto ice and down steep steps I slid,

Smacked my head on the car, and went off the grid,

I died when I slowly froze,

Was greeted by my dead nanna, Rose,

I knew I was in Hades, because I spied grandpa Sid.

GRIEVE AND HEAVE ON NEW YEAR'S EVE

The big ball was dropped on New Year's Eve,🕛🎉🎉🎉🔔

It crushed a guy below, named Steve,🚶

There was not time for us to grieve,😢

The drinks were gone, and it was time to leave,🍷🍸🍹🍻

We all went home to have a heave.   🚽

BRAIN SPLATTER: THE STATUE, TREE AND ME

I went and bought a statue and placed it under my tree,

The tree fell on my statue and worse, it fell on me,

My little brain cells got splattered,

My statue was all shattered,

My folks creamed us both together, and scattered us at sea.

THE AFTERLIFE LIMERICK

Into the dirt or the fires in death we remorse,
To the worms or the ashes, what is our recourse,
Either a worm feces we become,
Or, an old tin urn we pour from,  
Finally, we return to the piles of our source.