When I was little, death was not a fear,
It wasn't a word I knew.
I never, at the thought of death, shed a tear.
Now death was something of ture.
Now I understand the consequences of it.
Now I understand, that it will hurt.
I don't understand jest a bit.
But I know I'm not ready for the end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem