La mort

Who is this woman walking in the streets? Where is she going? In the foggy night where a cold winter blows, what is she doing? Hidden by a large silk scarf, barely can one see the shape of her face, The city is a white desert that she crosses like an unreal shadow. Who is this woman walking in the streets? Who is she? To what mysterious love appointment is she going? She just entered under a porch and slowly takes the stairs. Where is she going? A door has opened. She entered without knocking in front of her. On a large bed, a man is lying down, he says to her: 'I will wait for you, my cruel one.' In the room where nothing moves, she drew the curtains. On a red silk cushion, she placed her coat and, beautiful as a bride, in her long white lace dress, she leaned over him, who seemed amazed. What does she say? She took the stairs again, she went back out into the streets. Where is this woman in lace going? Who is this woman? She is beautiful. She is the last bride, the one who comes without being called, the faithful one. She is the bride of the last hour, the one who comes when one cries, the cruel one. It is death, death walking in the streets. Beware. Close your windows tightly, so that she never enters your home. This woman is death, death, death...