Mama on the meadow

You walked with her mother on the meadow,
And you it whispered: “Sweet!
ending with the day, and live no strength in me.
Boy, know, even from the grave
I love you, like before, shore!”

You quietly looked down,
Bells in hand squeezing.
All blossomed and sang in the evening of May…
You raised a peephole, understanding,
What will confuse its your tears.

A little distance caught sight balcony,
Old garden and windows of white cottages,
Zasheptala Mom crying Bitter:
“My boyfriend! Because I can not otherwise, –
Until the end of the law, we only heart!”

Do not be sad! Her death was easy:
Death for women best find!
Here nap prevented her from grill,
And now she was asleep gently
There, in the garden, where God and clouds.

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Marina Tsvetaeva
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