Wednesday, April 29, 2009

A land not mine, still
forever memorable,
the waters of its ocean
chill and fresh.

Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk,
and the air drunk, like wine,
late sun lays bare
the rosy limbs of the pinetrees.

Sunset in the ethereal waves:
I cannot tell if the day
is ending, or the world, or if
the secret of secrets is inside me again.

Anna Akhmatova

(1889 - 1966)


Momacita said...

What secret are you hiding?

me said...

that I forget to floss; that I don't ALWAYS recycle; I really don't like fat-free salad dressing all that much.