Being (Like) Ernest...

A sweet summer breeze gently blew through my window.
I sat, squinting in front of my laptop,
Looking for a word that rhymed with "silver".
I often wrote my own obituary,
It always had the same ending, but everything before it was different...

My favorite was the one where I lived the final 40 years of my life
In Ernest Hemingway's haunted mansion in Key West.
It always brought me visions of me and Ernie talking about how humorous it was to be famous.
Because, after all, to live in Ernie's mansion, I'd have to be famous, too.

Yes, it's a sick thing to write your own obituary,
But who else would appreciate the nuances of your life
More than you?