Tastebuds At The Time Of Death

A geezer by the name of Herrmann had always in his life been German. He stayed, as many of them do, at home and not in Timbuktu. The time to die came in the Spring when flowers wake and bluebirds sing. They placed him in an upstairs bed and thought by morning he'd be dead. The man who'd been a pastry baker was not too keen to meet his maker, yet medicines had been in vain, he had a tumour on the brain. Now, tumours, on occasion, will change senses while they make you ill. The sense of smell did change and fool the patient, who began to drool... when odours of slow-broiling liver sent to his spine a frigid shiver, with all his strength he stood and went downstairs to see what all this meant. The kitchen table, fully laden and by the stove a fresh young maiden, prepared what seemed a ton of meat, he wondered whether he could eat... a piece before the Reaper Grim would claim his soul and come for him. Just as he reached toward the table, new appetite which made him able to muster strength this time in life, she spotted him, his grieving wife. 'Quicksmart, you go back up to bed! You're finished and will soon be dead. I can't allow for you to take a single piece. It's for the WAKE!