Around a distant plain,
Yes crowd charred stumps.
Below - darling Valley,
And the clouds trail over her.
Nothing beckons for him,
As if the very close distance.
Here, between heaven and earth
Lives sullen melancholy.
It day and night digging
In the fields of sandy hillocks.
Sometimes plaintive howl
And once again silenced - for the time being.
And all, What will happen, everything, what happened, –
Cold and heartless ashes,
As these stones over the grave
love, lost in the fields.
25 August 1901. D. Ivlevo
