Said a short speech.
By night waiting for news of strange.
No one came out to meet.
I stood alone at the door.
Many came to the house,
Screaming and crying bitterly.
All of them were strangers to me,
And I have not touched their views.
Everyone was waiting for some kind of lead.
From what I learned passages
Crazy nonsense about the bride,
About tom, someone ran.
AND, Shoots on the mound for the garden,
Everyone watched the blue distance.
Each mock glance
Show tried to sadness.
I did not leave one door
And do not dare to go in and ask.
It was sweet to know about the loss,
But it is ridiculous to talk about it.
So there was one - without anxiety.
I looked at the distant mountains.
And there - on a steep road -
Already clubs in the red dust.
15 July 1902
