Not Being Perfect

"When I am dead, my Dearest, sing no sad song for me........."
No! That's not what I meant to say (that old poem from my youth).......
I meant to say, When I am dead and on the other side.........
I hope I don't make a mistake, and
Say the wrong thing.........

Like I did, in France, in my teens, with
A suitcase in each hand. Standing
Within a block or two of the train station,
But not sure in which direction it lay,
And I pictured the words, and I said them with
My best accent:

"Where is the station? Ou est la gare?"
But I mispronounced that word gare (gaaahr)
(I said, g-eh-r, [guerre] [war!!!!].
"Excuse me, where, oh, where is the war!,
Ma'am, Sir?

And nobody put two and two together.
Passerby after passerby,
Giving me the evil eye......

I hope I won't make the same
Kind of mistake,
In front of the pearly gates,
........If I have to ask for help........
And be looked at askance.

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