In the evening anna ahmatova

Music is ringing in the garden
With such an inexpressive grief.
Oysters with ice on dish smelled
Freshly, keenly like water in the sea.

He told me: “I’m your loyal friend!”
And briefly touched my dress by fingers.
How his hands’ touch was not
Alike to real hugs!

Someone can stroke a cat this way,
Someone can watch this way a rider.
There’s only laughter in still eyes
Under eyelashes gilding luster.

But mournful cello’s voice is chanting
Behind prostrating lying smoke:
“You have to thank the welkin, dear,
For the first time you’re with your love alone”.