My mother
I had a dream: we are in the ancient crypt
Shoronenы; but life goes
Above - louder, all the ridiculous;
And the last day comes,
A little glimmer of Sunday morning.
The pipe can be heard far.
Above us - red stones
And the mausoleum of iron.
And he goes out of smoky given;
And the angels with swords - with him:
Such, like in the books we read,
Missing and not believing them.
Under the same set of arkoyu
Lies quiet wife;
But it is not the freedom of the road:
He does not want to revive it…
And I hear, mother next to me whispers:
"My son, you are in life was strong:
Click the hand of a set of stronger,
And the stone is rolled away ". –
"Not, mother. I gasped in a coffin,
And there is no more experienced forces.
Pray and ask both,
To the angel rolled away the stone ".
20 June 1910
