You will not live again. You will not rise from the snow Twenty-eight holes from the bayonet Five from the gun. I have made a shroud for my friend, … - Anna Akhmatova

Song falls silent, music is dumb,
But the air burns with their fragrance,
And white winter, on its knees,
Observes everything with reverent attention.

... he is rewarded with a form of eternal childhood,
with the bounty and vigilance of the stars,
the whole world was his inheritance
and he shared it with everyone.

The celebrations
Of secret nonmeetings are empty,
Unspoken conversations,
Unuttered words.
Glances that don't intersect
Don't know where to come to rest.
And only the tears rejoice
Because they can flow and flow.
Sweetbrier around Moscow,
Alas! Somehow it is here ...
And all this they will call
Love eternal.