It feels so strange

Shameless to think of death

When none of those one knows has died

Last night I dreamt I was dead

I came running with my dog into the room of the dead

There was nothing to be seen

Only stones and a few bushes

A landscape that travellers have often spoken of

I would rather not die here

But in my own home, where I was not dead

All the death

All the death

In the course of life and death

Write about death

Describe in the poem what you feel, concerning death

In the face of death I'm like an animal

And the animal can die but write nothing

The words die like flies

Their corpses everywhere, swept away from the white paper

Give the dirty little room