A Game of Cards My uncle was a great one for the cards— “Forty-one”, he played it every night; He worked hard, he played hard, he drank hard. He took on cancer. Put up a good fight. He died. And superstition then assured There’d be “Forty-one” in heaven with his friends, That the pain that he had morphined, fought, endured Would be rewarded with a game that never ends. I don’t know if there’s a heaven after death. And so what if there isn’t? I’d still live My life as Jesus lived to his last breath, A way, a…
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