This handsome certificate doesn't signify much. It's an acknowledgement of my entry.
Yes, you too can own one simply by clicking on the little green dog at the Haiku for Mars Contest (4 posts below this one) before the closing date of 1st June and sending your haiku to the Maven Going to Mars campaign.
The three poems gaining the most votes will be taken to Mars aboard NASA's Maven spacecraft.
At the funeral of a dear friend, an elderly spinster, I was asked to read something. First came Heinrich Heine's LXXXVII from DIE HEIMKEHR 1823 - 1824 (The Homecoming 1823-1824). My translation is directly below the original.
Der Tod, das ist die kühle Nacht, Das Leben ist der schwüle Tag. Es dunkelt schon, mich schläfert, Der Tag hat mich müd gemacht. Über mein Bett erhebt sich ein Baum, Drin singt die junge Nachtigall; Sie singt von lauter Liebe, Ich hör es sogar in Traum.
Death, that is the cool night. Life is the warm day. It is dark now, and I will sleep; The day has made me tired. Over my bed there is a tree Where a young nightingale Sings loudly of love; I hear it as in a dream.
This was followed by Raymond Carver's Late Fragment. And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.