Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Deathbed Confessions

"A penny for your thoughts," he said,
In soft and gentle tone,
While sick and weak, I lay a-bed,
And longed to be alone.

"I think I'm tired," was my reply;
My meaning was not deep,
For by this speech I did imply
I longed to be asleep.

Yet unaware of what I meant,
He pressed the matter then;
He held aloft another cent
And questioned me again.

"Another penny for a thought
That's wise beyond compare,
For life's experience has brought
Some wisdom you should share!"

I wish my son would let me be;
He whines the whole day through,
He acts as though he just turned three,
Although he's forty-two.

He calls me in the dead of night,
To yak about his day;
He interrupts my sleep for spite,
And has to get his way.

But when I need a bit of help
He's nowhere to be found,
That lazy, whining little whelp,
He's simply not around.

And when I offer him advice,
And tell him what I think,
He tunes me out in just a trice
With sneering smile and wink.

"My son," I said, "why do you plead
For me to share a thought?
I know that you will never heed
The things that I have taught."

"You see," he said, "I've seen your will;
It's lying in the hall.
And what I saw just made me ill;
You've left me naught at all.

"So now I know that you refuse
To leave me just one pence,
And so I pray that you would choose
To leave some common sense."

"My son, I'll give you common sense,
I'll share my wisest thought.
And it won't cost a single cent;
For wisdom can't be bought:

"Your life could be a piece of cake,
That's full of joy and fun
If you avoid my worst mistake -
Don't ever have a son!"

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