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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.


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