It was a fun bride.
But death came. She died.
And old mother buried her here.
But the church fell into the pond zatsvetshy.
Above swell the deepest parts
Floats one fixed cross.
They passed hundreds and hundreds of years,
And in the old house no youth.
And in the house, tired of waiting for youth,
I have only the mother.
The old woman vdevaet thread the needle.
Shadows threads shaking on a light floor.
Quiet, as will. light, as it was.
And by Godin old forgotten.
As the world, old, as snow, Seda.
Will never die, never, never…
And along the drawers, along the old chairs
Fly's dance still hilarious,
And the red thread lie on the floor,
And your mouse tickles the wallpaper in the corner.
In the depths of the mirror - still calm
With the same old woman, as snow, gray,
I've been neither, and the same mouse,
And the same image looks out of the niche -
The salary of the dark - a dark pond,
With modest gaze - always, is always…
Long extinct indifferent glance,
of the ball of yarn cheerful, red…
and deeper, and deeper range of chambers,
And in the window watching all the same garden,
Green, how the world; tall, as night;
Gentle, as the departed daughter…
"vernis, vernis. The thread does not want to smolder.
Let me die in peace ".
3 June 1905