Dying For A Cookie

On his deathbed lay poor old Jim, hardly any strength left to him, and he was thinking as he lay: "I'll just lie here and die today, " when he perceived a lovely smell, wife baking cookies, he could tell. This smell of cookies gave him hope; no longer did he want to mope. He'd lost his voice; he couldn't call, but thought that maybe he could crawl down to the kitchen for a treat; those cookies would be hard to beat. And so he tumbled out of bed, banged up his elbows, bumped his head, looked himself over, just to find another bruise on his behind, but started forward, past some chairs, then slipped and tumbled down the stairs. The only way he moved along was that sweet cookie smell, so strong. He's in the kitchen now at last, and all his strength is fading fast. A kitchen chair's a welcome sight; it helps him pull himself upright. A mound of cookies sitting there makes him feel like a millionaire. His hand now stretches to the plate when it is smashed by some great weight! "You can't have those! " his wife calls out. "They're for the funeral, you lout! "