Death.

The first sin is being begotten,

And the last is meeting me.

When it is time for an age to be forgotten,

When it is time for joy to crouch and see;

I rise to the skies when God's name written.

Light is fought, mercy is sought, life is thought to flee.

Why am I abhorred? And toward me only morbids have stridden? 

O my God, I never chose to be a bee or a fish in the sea.

These people make me sad how they have all forgotten

That after all I'm a woman, who has ceased to be.