When Death Comes
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,
and each name a
comfortable music in the
mouth,
tending, as all music
does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of
courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to
say all my life
I was a bride married to
amazement.
I was the bridegroom,
taking the world into my
arms.
When it's over, I don't
want to wonder
if I have made of my life
something particular,
and real.
I don't want to find
myself sighing and
frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up
simply having visited
this world.
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