Death, as told to a neighborhood child

Death used to come, sometimes,
but it never wanted to go away
as it felt good,
very good,
you know,
a bit like you when you go to the park and play
with your friends, with your dog…
and then you take a green stone
and you break it with a white stone,
and suddenly, you start to cry
without any reason,
and nobody cares,
so you go quiet, and then start playing again
with this or with that…
Death never went away,
it will be with us forever,
Death, you know.

   --Vicent Andrés Estellés (1924-1993), a Catalán poet, "is considered to be the greatest poet that the Valencian Country has seen since the fifteenth century." Thank you to Irene Blasco for the post and her English translation. I have changed very slightly to make it idiomatic.

La Mort, Contada a un Nen del Veïnat

La Mort venia de vegades,
però mai no se'n volia anar,
car es trobava bé,
allò que es diu ben bé,
ja saps,
com tu quan surts al corral i jugues
amb els pollets i amb els conills
i agafes una pedra verda
i la trenques amb una pedra blanca
i et poses a plorar de sobte
perquè sí, sense cap moriu,
i com ningú no et fa cas
calles,
i després tornes a jugar
amb açò o amb allò...
Mai no se'n va anar, la Mort,
i es va quedar per a sempre amb nosaltres,
la Mort, ja sap