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A Viking Funeral for a Fisherman
When I die:
Just place my body in my old bass boat
With a cooler of beer at my sneakered feet
And anchor me with an old fishing float
Secured with a bowline to the forward cleat
In my left hand place my best Shakespeare reel
And in my right a stinky old cigar
Saint Peter’s Fish in my dad’s wicker creel
Then point the boat’s prow to the brightest star
It’s now the fishes’ turn; I’ll be their food
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