"So, we have just read this poem about death.   Can anyone tell me what it's about?" Mr. M asked.

"Dead people?" Alex replied.

"Yes.   What else?"

"The non-breathing?" Jason suggested.

"No...how about something more specific."

"The non-living?" Alex said.

"People who aren't alive." Jason said.

"No."

"The rotten, decomposing, worm-eaten flesh of country hicks?" Brooks suggested.

"Yes," Mr. M said emphatically, "Now what is the author saying about these dead country people?"

"That they are beautiful?" Alex said.

"Well, no..."

"That they smell good?" Brooks guessed.

"I'm not sure about that..." Mr. M said dubiously.

"Well they probably smell like dead cows, rotting chickens, and decomposing horses," Alex said, "I think those are the best smells in the world."

"How about we move on to the next question." Mr. M decided, "What is the author saying that these dead people want?"

"To smell good?" Alex said.

"To breath?" Jason said.

"To have less worms?" Brooks said.

"To be buried with all of their cows?" Chuck suggested.

"No," Mr. M said, "They want to be remembered.   Now do you all remember Peter Halley?"

"Of course!   Good ole Peter!" Brooks exclaimed and then asked, "Who is he?"

"No, seriously, you don't know him?" Mr. M asked incredulously, "Well he was the proud owner of the nuclear power plant that blew up a few months ago..."