DEATH...
... reap grimly
... be not proud
... prepare for battle
... go gently
... pass over
... come again another day
... or...
sits on my shoulder
and softly counsels me
so that my spirit
may be tempered
helps me to remember
the smell of broken twigs
and fallen leaves
back-there-now
teaches me to
tie such things together
and make them
ever-now-then
and gently reminds me to
savor this thing called life
while whispering
"be like your eyes-open"
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem