It was there, in the reeling of the death-dance,

where the drums of ending were already sounding,

that I came at last to know the shape of my final hour

and knowing it, I unlearned my fear

for the flesh is a coward that borrows its terrors

and the mind is a forge where maladies are struck,

the body suffers only what the will consents to suffer

and I had ceased to give my consent.

Fear nothing, then

The end is a country I have already crossed in the mind

and what the spirit has surveyed and mastered

the trembling hand never dread

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Phaestian, in the year 1008 AF.