'IT'S MY FUNERAL'

My skin was wrinkly crinkly

And my teeth were custard creams 

But the ghost that dwelt in my mirror

Gave me nightmares in my dreams

My knees were creaky weaky

And a crow defeated my face

So I decided to say a final farewell

And depart our earthbound race

I now soar through space in a firework

After an age of achieving a large numeral

I’m so glad I decided to go out with a bang

After all, it really is my funeral

Michael Ashby, Sidmouth

(Funeral poems for an old man,old lady, old age)