Alas, poor Yorrick, I knew him well,
What he died of is hard to tell.
Something he ate must have caused his demise,
Just what it was may be a surprise
Was it meat or fish, that fatal dish?
Eggs or chicken, milk or cheese?
Sprays on the veg, or bugs in the water?
Salmonella in poultry, diseased cattle at slaughter?
Perhaps it was brown bread, the latest of threats,
He did seem so healthy, we'd best hedge our bets,
The post mortem will tell at the end of the day,
Just what it was that took him away.
Till then perhaps best not to eat or drink
As we could also be on the brink
Of a fate just like his, the unfortunate fellow
And die of a fever, be it black, green or yellow.
They've done the post mortem
'Twasn't food irradiation,
He'd heard all the reports,
And died of starvation!
(another one copied from who-knows-where and saved in the old envelope)