I will not dread the moment when I'll be fed to others, like I fed myself,
|A doe's conversation with a Messenger of Joy|
We have always lived with the dead.
Why without them?
I've survived five snows;
I will not see another:
my knees grow weak;
my legs move slow.
I will not dread the moment
when I'll be fed to others —
like I fed myself,
giving life for my young to grow.
My eyes will look into the eyes of Death,
this Messenger-of-Joy and rest,
and we both shall nod and know.
© 2009 Kåre Enga [165.456] 2009-02-27
Prompted by this final line from "The Directions, #4, The Old Ones" a poem of Melissa Kwasny: "We have always lived with the dead. Why without them?" and by Marrilyne Lundahl's talk about the conversation of death between predator and prey.
Notes: Among the Salish, the word for 'year' and 'snow' is the same. And Marrilyne Lundahl spoke of the conversation of death between predator and prey last Monday. In the Hidden Words of Baha'u'llah (Arabic #32) it states "I have made death a messenger of joy". Even without these notes though, I think the poem stands on its own.