prophesy, bitter, and dropped her hands…

O.A.G.S.

prophesy, bitter, and dropped her hands,
Strand of hair stuck to the bloodless brow,
And smiling - on, not one bee
Rosy smile seduced
And he does not hesitate to tie one.

Like the moon light eyes, and hard
Far from seeing eye stopped.
Do the dead sweet reproach,
Or live graciously forgive
Your exhaustion and shame?

1921

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Anna Akhmatova
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