This parade of life, all we see,
All that is, is death. And life? Life is what will be.
What you cannot see, lives—
And death? Beware of what it gives;
Seeing its gift, you are blind—
Invisible creativity is much more kind.
This dog, slobbering on your cheek
Is love wearing you thin—death making you weak.
I hate to tell you that visible love is out
To kill you—your sun is disappearing without a doubt.
You don’t know if the sun will rise tomorrow.
This is why wisdom is always mixed with sorrow,
This is why what you left behind
In the womb is the only thing that’s kind.