It was helpless. The heart beat too coldly.
But my steps were so easy and quick.
I was wearing the left glove – so baldly –
On the right hand – why? – Just for a trick.
Foggy road was so long. Stairs – seemed countless
But I know – it was only three.
And the whisper of maples soundless –
“Die in autumn, with me…” - breathed the tree.
“I’m deceived by my bad, sad cheer,
Melancholic and changing fortune”
And I answered: “Oh, darling, dear…
I am too… Die with you… Don’t attune”
It’s the song of the final meeting.
I just glanced at the darkened windows.
Painful cool in the chest was speeding.
Lonely candle – the light for widows.
* на стихотворение А.Ахматовой "Песня последней встречи"