Like a white stone in the depth of the well,
Lies in me a memory.
I can't and don't want to fight:
It's fun and it — suffering.
It seems to me that those who close look
In my eyes, it will be seen immediately.
Sad and pensive will be
Listening to the mournful story.
I know that the gods turned
People in subjects without killing consciousness
To live forever wondrous sorrow.
You're turned into my memory.
Anna Akhmatova
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