One cold winter's night amid a storm
I heard a knock at the door
It was Death asking to warm himself
Beside the fire so I let him in
You may think I was insane but quite the contrary
Death is the origins of all our joy and sorrow
For without Death, there is no life
Without Death, there are no drums
Death played his song while I danced
Though I didn't know the steps
All the while my love for Him grew
And when I finally stopped
I found myself weeping...
Because at last I understood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.