And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind, I was ready.
I will manage somehow.

Today I have so much to do:
I must kill memory once and for all,
I must turn my soul to stone,
I must learn to live again--

Unless . . . Summer's ardent rustling
Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen this
Brilliant day, deserted house.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 11008 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Anna Akhmatova
Poem: The Sentence

Poem of the Day on:
Dec 18 2003
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