Is this to be my hapless plight,
To die of coughing in the night?
Of all the ways it could have come,
Who’d imagine I’d choke upon my lung?
Others go much more dignified,
Dying in battle with honor and pride.
And others still will pass with fame,
Ridding their loved ones of morbid shame.
Not I– for I must walk another path,
One filled with wheezing, rattling gasps.
Nearing Heaven’s gates, I see a man,
It’s St. Peter, cough drops in hand.