I read this in a newspaper decades ago and thought it was funny
so I copied it and kept it. Now I'm sharing it with you after finding it hiding in a long forgotten folder. I do hope the original author doesn't mind. "Alas, Poor Yorick, 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, that 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 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