A Poem

A wonderful poem I received by email. ;)

When from this earth I take my leave,
The Corporation will not grieve.

The work I did will be absorbed,
redistributed, or ignored.

But by that time I will not care
floating in celestial air.

An angel greets me by the Gate,
says I do not have to wait.

St. Peter gives me a knowing smile,
as I move beyond the rank and file;

Beyond Mother Theresa and the Pope,
past the man who created liquid soap

I stand in awe before the Gate,
in dreadful anticipation I do wait,
to hear the voice of God decree
just what fate He has for me.

I think of all the wrong I’ve done,
the fear erases all the fun.

And suddenly I fear the worst
the never ending flames and thirst,
And just when I abandon hope,
And wish I had invented liquid soap,
His gentle voice allays my fears,
Soothes my soul and dries my tears;

Enter, friend. You’ve had your hell:
I understand you once worked for Nortel.

Anonymous.

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