Frank,
To be politically correct,
He wanted to be a hundred,
And rip up his telegram from the Queen,
Missed it by three years.
In fact he wanted to be 103,
And live in three centuries,
Missed it by six.
He wanted to change the world,
With equal shares for all,
And just escaped the workhouse.
He wanted to be remembered as a writer,
Who refused to believe in God,
But lost his best manuscript.
I wonder what he's up to now?
I really can't imagine,
Frank,
Resting in peace.
