After certain experiences, death for hir is no longer in question.
Sie can no more cease to be, though hir body be consumed entire
Than all of the atoms that have been of hir, in all of hir parts,
Will cease to be though earth and heaven end.

“As I was telling M. Sosostris over tea
It seems no-one, from time to time,
Hasn’t been our dear friend Nagel’s bat.”

There is nothing of hir that does not change
Though hir stones and spells may stand for ages.
There is nothing of hir that does not on occasion die:
This does nothing to hurt the one of certain experience,
Though every part of hir burns with the change.

Who will hurt hir? The fire is hir father,
The mother of waves bears hir up,
The west wind is a womb for hir
And the graveworms are nursed on hir love.

Sie knows the door out: and when in many lifetimes, sie may open it
How can sie have looked so often beyond that final gate
And never once stepped through?