'No one sung about that meeting,'


No one sung about that meeting,
Sadness faded with never a song.
A cool summer it was,
Like a new life begun.

The sky seems a vault of stone,
Wounded by yellow fire,
And more than my daily bread
I need some word of him.

Dew-wet grass
Refresh my soul with news –
Not for passion, or for pleasure,
But for deep love of this earth.


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Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; 'Now farewell, capital,'

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