Competitions scab…

(Poems to Akhmatova)

Competitions scab
As we have not mastered kinship.
And so we just shared:
yours – Petersburg, my – Moscow.

Blissfully and unselfishly
My genius listened to your.
On each of your handwritten sigh
Breath billowed shaft.

But my pride shaft Polish –
As he fell! – With hot zlatozarnyh
My poems – as a volunteer
To you flocked to the tent…

Reaches dissolved in vacuum ester
My lyrical flattery?
And I'm inconsolable,
What female lyre
one, I thrust a legion.

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Marina Tsvetaeva
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