Is there rhubarb in the next world?
I should really like to know.
If there’s not it’s not worth dying
For I love my rhubarb so.
Whether stewed and ate with custard
Or embedded in a pie
I ingest it with a flourish
And I swallow with a sigh.
For breakfast, lunch and dinner,
At eleven and at three,
If I cannot have my rhubarb
Then it’s fasting time for me.
And when mumbling in the background
While I’m acting in a play
If I cannot murmur, “Rhubarb!”
Why then, what else can I say?

From “A Flash In The Pun”