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

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One thought on “A Land not mine

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