Death is the door that never closes
on the slow life hours, expectation budding
always a light ray streaming
into an empty room.
Some days are days for the dying:
the Sunday silence, the Monday mourning.
The task then is to wait for illumination:
the Sunday silence, the Monday mourning,
some days are days for the dying
into an empty room
always a light ray streaming
on the slow life hours, expectation budding—
death is the door that never closes.
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