“Uncle Stan died on the toilet”

In the golden glow of Sunday noon,  
Back when the breeze hummed a friendly tune,  
Uncle Stan—our family’s heart—  
Departed life with a sudden start.  

He’d always loved the simple things:  
A crossword, old songs, birds with wings.  
His laughter rolled like summer thunder,  
Tales and jokes—he’d never blunder.  

That day, with coffee in his hand,  
He hummed and strolled across the land,  
Then closed the door, said, “Back in a bit!”  
We heard the seat. We smiled a whit.  

Time ticked on, the pie grew cold,  
No tale that day, no riddle told.  
We knocked, then entered, hearts in flight—  
He’d slipped away into the night.  

Oh, tears and laughter intertwined  
As memories flickered in each mind.  
He’d have chuckled at his own retreat,  
A final joke, both kind and sweet.  

We tell the story, laugh through tears,  
It softens sorrow through the years.  
We loved his life, his gentle ploy—  
Even his last, undignified joy.  

For Uncle Stan, both wise and wild,  
Was happiness when he simply smiled.  
Though gone, his memory won’t spoil:  
He’s part of every laugh and toil—  
And yes, the bravest souls take leave  
In humble places, we believe.

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