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The memory of the sun is weakening...
The memory of the sun is weakening in my heart. Turns yellow the grass. The wind blows the early snowflakes Lightly, lightly. In the narrow channels there is no flow-- Water freezes. Nothing will ever happen here,-- Oh, never! In the empty sky the willow has been thrown A wind transparent. Maybe it's for the better that I haven't become Your wife. The memory of the sun is weakening in the heart. What is it? Darkness? Maybe!...Within a night may come Winter.
by Anna Akhmatova |