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.