From four to seven

In heart, like in the mirror, shadow,
boring one – and people…
Slowly stretches day
From four to seven!
To people do not have to – solgut,
At dusk, every cruel.
I want to cry. The tourniquet
Fingers twisted handkerchief.
If you offend – forgive,
Only I'm not Tom!
– I am infinitely sad
From four to seven.

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Marina Tsvetaeva
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