Today the death has glanced at me with her all-seeing eye,
I was sleeping, it woke me.
There stood winter outside the door – silent, gloomy and white.
‘Say who I am’ – asked I choking.
‘A net of wrinkles on the forehead you are,
Of somebody who’s thinking’ – it whispered.
I knew eternity’s cold and brilliant, and light
Like wisdom.
Painting by Lin Sun.
