Look, there's Death in Sister's face, in her eyes - that's the poison.
Everyday she eats more poison. For a moment she is alive again,
Young, then Death moves a little closer. Dorothy lives close
To death and lies. I cannot see any truth in her eyes or in her face
Anymore. The poison eats the truth and changes her face.
And though I love my sister, my Dottie, I also feel pulled to bury her.
I wonder now if I, her brother, ever knew her true face at all.
Oh, Sister - why do you love that liar, Death? Why do you love
That one brief moment more than you love your own life?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem