by Anna Akhmatova
15/09/1921
Tzarskoye Selo
A sobbing Autumn as a poor widow,
All coloured black, today is hazing hearts.
And sorting husband's words in row,
Hard crying, and again restarts,
It would be so till the winter snow
Will fall its pity on her constant grief,
And she'll forget the former sorrow,
And bliss, which life is worth to give.
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In russian:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2010/07/30/1211
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem