The road by the seaside garden darkens,

by


The lights are a fresh yellow.
I'm at peace; but please, don't talk
To me about him.
You're kind and loyal, we'll be friends…
Walk, kiss, and be old…
Coming days will fly over us,
Lightly, like snowy stars.


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Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; 'The sky's blue lacquer grows dim,'

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