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 a life

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 dirt a little room