By Anna Akhmatova
(1917)
We never did quite master the goodbye -
We keep on drifting with our elbows locked,
And now it's getting dark, it's nearly night,
I walk in silence, you are deep in thought.
Into a church we'd stroll, where we would see
A christening, a wedding, and a wake.
With not a glance between us, we would leave...
Oh, why do things for us just break and break?
But then we’d sit right on the trampled snow,
Inside some graveyard, sharing peaceful breaths,
And you would find a twig and start to draw
Our rooms to spend forever by ourselves.