Honeymoon Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

My sister married, once again.
They said it was a joke,
of all the Fatherland's keen men
who would not mind the yoke
she picked a cousin, hers and mine
whose wife had bought the farm
this cousin is quite fond of wine,
the family viewed with alarm
the budding love unfold so fast,
nothing could slow this train
who knows how long this trip can last.
In the compartment all are happy
some dance, some sing and some are drunk
some hours later he is crappy
retires early to his bunk.
The morning sees him still in bed
his bride is drinking stale champagne
not knowing yet that he is dead
and that the journey was in vain.