It is the husks of sleepless nights,
it is the congealed wax of crooked candles,
it is the first morning chime
of a hundred white bells…
It is the warm windowsill
under the Ukrainian moon,
it is bees, it is clover,
it is dust and gloom and intense heat.
Anna Akhmatova - On Poetry
1 year ago on June 05, 2012 at 11:32am
-
nobodyshippie reblogged this from ifveniceissinking
-
vikingdiscoinfernodance likes this
-
fruitfuleyes likes this
-
anenlighteningellipses likes this
-
ifveniceissinking reblogged this from theerrand
-
theerrand reblogged this from anna-akhmatova
-
theerrand likes this
-
catawampuscreations reblogged this from anna-akhmatova
-
beatmeupwithyourletters likes this
-
anna-akhmatova reblogged this from rememo
-
quievi likes this
-
iamthehero-iamthequeen reblogged this from rememo
-
saturnrising likes this
-
rememo posted this