There was a man from Amsterdam,
Who had fallen foul of the reaper,
Taken from life a touch too soon,
In the morgue he did repose,
Waiting for so-called family who’d never show,
His family had forsook him years ago,
It was thought he’d rot alone,

But this was still his big day,
So along came the poets and civil servants,
Bouquets and verses in tow,
To perform this hallowed show,
To send off this main failed by society,
To gift him a final valediction,
The words,

Rust In Vrede.

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