Because I could not stop for death—
I kept going.
The bullets hailed, my body impaled,
I crashed on the beach of Normandy.
I could not stop for death.
I was its harbinger.
A rust-red mist, a thunderous boom.
There was once clear call for me.
I ignored it.
I battered the beach; I clawed up the hill.
Death does not stop for me,
And so I do not stop for it.