When death comes |
like the hungry bear in autumn; |
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse |
|
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; |
when death comes |
like the measle-pox |
|
when death comes |
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, |
|
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: |
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness? |
|
And therefore I look upon everything |
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, |
and I look upon time as no more than an idea, |
and I consider eternity as another possibility, |
|
and I think of each life as a flower, as common |
as a field daisy, and as singular, |