The poem describes the poet's premonition of his own death in Paris during a rainstorm on a Thursday, like the day he is writing. It expresses that his death does not bother him and he has already remembered the day. The poem also reflects on the death of Cesar Vallejo, saying that people struck and hit him hard with sticks and ropes for no reason, and that Thursdays, bones, loneliness, rain, and roads bore witness to this.