Epitaph (So, Who here is a vernal grass…)

So, Who here is a vernal grass,
forgive, The Lord, evil thought and sin!
He was sick, exhausted, unearthly,
He loved the angels and children's laughter.

Not crumpled stars lilac snow-white,
Though the Lord desired to overcome…
In all the sins he – child gentle,
And that's why – forgive him, The Lord!

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Marina Tsvetaeva
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