Every corpse on the bier
Has marveled at sunsets,
Held hands with a beloved,
Drunk toasts to friends old and new
Held the same thoughts we have held;
Had the same fears we were haunted by-
Because every corpse is a future us;
But unlike every man's death,
Ours is a calamity
Of immeasurable proportion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem