approaching sound. AND, submissive wrenching sound,
younger soul.
And in the dream I press my lips to your old hand,
not breathing.
dream, - again, I'm a boy, and lover again,
And gully, and weeds,
And in the weeds - prickly briar,
And the evening mist.
Flowers and leaves through, and prickly branches, I know,
Old house would look into my heart,
Glyanet sky again, rosy from krayu to krayu,
And your window.
That voice - it's yours, and strange sounds
Life and sorrow give,
Though in a dream, your dear old hand
Clutching it to his lips.
2 May 1912
