poema de e.e. cummings

suppose
Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.

young death sits in a café
smiling, a piece of money held between
his thum and first finger

(i say “will he buy flowers” to you
and “Death is young
life wears velour trousers
life totters, life has a beard” i

say to you who are silent. – “Do you see
Life? He is there and here,
or that, or this
or nothing or an old man 3 thirds
asleep, on his head
flowers, always crying
to nobody something about les
roses
les bluets
yes,
will He buy?
Les belles bottes – oh hear
, pas chéres”)

and my love slowly answered I think so. But
I think I see someone else

there is a lady, whose name is Afterwards
she is sitting beside young death, is slender;
likes flowers.

e.e. cummings