The Quick and the Dead

               Rapid Rabbit Abbott

There was a young lad named Abbott,

who would run and hop like a rabbit.

The folks in the quaint New  England town,

where he hurry about, would quietly frown,

and scorn him for his hurried habit.

Once upon a very long past day,

I needless tarry long - but to say:

that he would be quick and swift of foot,

and he didn't ever long take root,

in any formidable constant way.

He was alas quite often so fast,

it certainly couldn't forever  last.

All and any one certainly could see

that whenever he would be happy,

the where he had been was surely past.

Then once from the village belfry tower,

a bat soared down at the midnight hour

and grabbed the poor lad about the neck

and wouldn't it just be a bit of heck,

that this young lad died of rabid pow'r.

So on his headstone was inscribed

I tell the truth, I would not have lied.

"Here lies John Rabid Rapid Abbott,

Who could run and skip like a rabbit,

he was fast, quick, yet alas he died."

And what’s the point? You might this poet ask.

Take another big swig from your flask!

That’s the point the quick die too,

and it matters naught how hurry it you do,

for on the morrow lies a brand new task.