Wednesday, 2 February 2011

It's not summer yet, but, maybe I can convince my mind it is. Or at least Spring. Anyways, I woke up (at 555 ughhhh annoying) with this poem in my head and it's fabulous.

And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind, I was ready.
I will manage somehow.

Today I have so much to do:
I must kill memory once and for all,
I must turn my soul to stone,
I must learn to live again—

Unless . . . Summer's ardent rustling
Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen this
Brilliant day, deserted house.

The Sentence by Anna Akhmatova

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