(8 October 1892 – 31 August 1941 / Moscow)

A Birthday Poem

Just past dawn, the sun stands
with its heavy red head
in a black stanchion of trees,
waiting for someone to come
with his bucket
for the foamy white light,
and then a long day in the pasture.
I too spend my days grazing,
feasting on every green moment
till darkness calls,
and with the others
I walk away into the night,
swinging the little tin bell
of my name.

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Comments (9)

Wow as the day begins a moody blues lights up, a Chicago being, as the city lights up in fire.Taste her embrace, as her lips quenhes my thirst.
So even in the grave I can not sing" Great life song deserving classic poem of the day.
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So it seems that even an accomplished poet has feelings of self-doubt and futility. Maybe that comes from searching her soul so deeply
Lions' Business! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
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