Classic Poem

H E'S dead! He's dead! Poor Jack is dead,
And gone to the monkey heaven;
He was very young when he was born,
And he died at the age of seven.

I state this age for the sake of rhyme.
Yet, wise ones, do not laugh,
For truth is oft thus sacrificed
To write an epitaph.

He lived a strictly moral life,
Though at heart a sybarite;
His mind a mine of wisdom was,
And nature his delight.

Though all the sciences he loved,
First came anatomy;
And that is how he came to be
An expert in phlebotomy.

He passed his life examining
All the insects he could get;
And all life's secrets were to him
An open book, you bet!

And, thoughtless stranger, if you knew
The things he must have known,
We'd have to move to another world,
For you'd claim this as your own.

So, dear old Jack, pray think of us
As you eat your pease and rice,
And swing contented by your tail
On the trees of Paradise!