Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
Grass grows yellower.
Faintly if at all the early snowflakes
Hover, hover.

Water becoming ice is slowing in
The narrow channels.
Nothing at all will happen here again,
Will ever happen.

Against the sky the willow spreads a fan
The silk's torn off.
Maybe it's better I did not become
Your wife.

Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
What is it? -- Dark?
Perhaps! Winter will have occupied us
In the night.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 3992 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Anna Akhmatova
Poem: Memory Of Sun

Year: Published/Written in 1911
Poem of the Day on:
Jan 28 2004
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