Let love be the gravestone Lying on my life. - Anna Akhmatova

The sand as white as old bones, the pine trees strangely red where the sun comes down. I cannot say if it is our love, or the day, that is ending.

How the miracle of our meeting
Shone there and sang,
I didn't want to return
From there to anywhere.
Happiness instead of duty
Was bitter delight to me.
Not obliged to speak to anyone,
I spoke for a long while.
Let passions stifle lovers,
Demanding answers,
We, my dear, are only souls
At the limits of the world.

I hear always the sad voices of summer passing like red winged birds over the high grass