There is a room with four tables,
The first table is for the eternally brave,
Who believe in the power of fables,
And their faith in life beyond the grave.
When I was young I would hide behind a tree,
Petrified of the bullies that were after me,
Later I learned to run and I purchased a gun,
But never wandered outside in the Sun.
There is a room with four tables,
The second table is for the despairing,
They stare at computers and cables,
And pretend they are the caring.
As I grew older I hid in my room,
Unable to face the breaking dawn,
Mortified by the green and rustic gloom,
And unable to lay on the windswept lawn.
There is a room with four tables,
The third table is for the chronically unwell,
They barely make a sound and have no labels,
They are forgotten by Heaven and Hell.
For the first 60 years I was just fearful,
After that I became terrified,
Those around me were tearful;
And completely horrified.
At the fourth table I sit by myself,
Thanking God I have my Health.