I will die in Inman on a Friday
Yes it will be cold
With the ground full of snow
I’ll be outside building a snowman that is taller than me
My friends would be throwing snowballs at me
I would fall and hit my head
That was there for years

They will panic as the snow turns red
I will look at them till my eyes fell shut
These will bare witness to me:
My friends who took ten minutes to quit panicking and call 911
The neighbor across the street who though they were all a bunch of loony’s
Aubrey Schlee is dead, in a white wonderland

At my funeral, I will imagine he will be on his knees
Crying hysterical and saying “I love you” and “please don’t go”.
But it would be too late.