Tax Crisis


The time of year,

Is at hand,

That sends a chill,

Across the land. 


The taxman cometh,

This time of year,

That the educated and strong,

Have come to fear. 


Ten forty,

And ten ninety-nine.

Forms by the score,

Must be in on time. 


They simplified taxes,

And the Code,

By adding ten forms and two hundred pages.

To lighten the load.


They promised a kinder,

And gentler taxman. 

Avoid paying taxes,

And see who they'll still put in the can.


Shall I file early?

Or shall I file late?

My preparer's advice,

Ain't all that great.


Did I withhold,

Enough this time?

Or will the vigorish of April 15,

Take my last dime?


Snail mail, email,

Or the teletax line.

So many ways,

To put off the time.


When sweating for hours into the night.

Searching for every last receipt.

Absolutely required,

To make your filing complete.


And if you should die,

Before your refund arrives.

Probate will insure,

That it enriches no one else's lives.


Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull




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