When I die I shall miss the taste
Of that first sip of tea in the morning,
Assuming of course there is no tea,
Nor, for that matter, any morning.
One thing I shall not miss
Will be other people’s music,
Which translates directly as other people,
Though unlike the tea and the morning
They may well be there,
The whole rowdy lot of them,
In which case I would have to learn
To love them all, which might take a while,
So it is fortunate indeed that this time
For that there will be an eternity.