Song of Death
Old Woman Census-taker,
Death the Trickster,
when you're going along,
don't you meet my baby.
Sniffing at newborns,
smelling for the milk,
find salt, find cornmeal,
don't find my milk.
Anti-Mother of the world,
on the beaches and byways,
don't meet that child.
The name he was baptized,
that flower he grows with,
forget it, Rememberer.
Lose it, Death.
Let wind and salt and sand
drive you crazy, mix you up
so you can't tell
East from West,
or mother from child,
like fish in the sea.
And on the day, at the hour,
find only me.
Gabriela Mistral's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Song of Death by Gabriela Mistral )
- Fortunate enough, hasmukh amathalal
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- The Other Side Of The Story, mary douglas
- Journey end, hasmukh amathalal
- Phantasies Only Relief, Numbing (me), Lonely Voyager
- Offer with promises, hasmukh amathalal
- Morning Triku XXV, Steve Kittell
- My Pencil, Steve Kittell
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)