If I should die some night and never see Dawn's light, my email, and my morning tea, I face the thought with equanimity, In fact, it would be worse for you than me. Not that I want to die and turn to clay. I'm only half-way through, I want to stay, I want more years, more books, more chance to say I love my life, my work, my friends, my day. But I would know for sure the mystery Perhaps go on to live again and grow But even if there's nothing, I would know. My death I view with calm philosophy It's other people's death that makes me rage Weep, grieve, and curse, demand another page.