You're Dead, but Famous Now

 
Congratulations!
They're singing your praises in Carnegie Hall
Your poems are being recited
Everywhere from grade school to, well . . .
Carnegie Hall
Those poems you wrote
Unpublished each and every one
But not anymore
Your sweet wife is reaping in your rewards
I know, I know
You were in the process of divorcing her
When the heart attack struck you down
Never mind that
Your poems live, man
Not buried in some dusty old trunk in the attic
I admit it's a shame
You aren't here to cash in yourself
Uh, about your sweet wife
You accused her of having an affair
Couldn't prove it
But now I can tell you that you were right
She was cheating on you
We were married yesterday
And we sail for France
On your poems-generated money
In the morning