Sepulchre (Sepultre)

Let’s say the night is heavy and somber
And some good neighbor out of mercy
Buries your body, the one we’ve all pondered
Behind a pile of old debris

Let’s say the prudish stars have ebbed
Closing their heavy-lidded eyes
Then the spider will weave her web
Then the snake will hatch her babies

Throughout many an endless year
The wounded cries of wolves you’ll hear
Wailing, yes wailing, above your skull

And the shrieks of ravenous witches
Lustful old men who clamor for riches
The whispers of bandits echoing through the rubble.

–Translated by Chris Schoen

[See original poem here.]

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