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The evening light is yellow and wide,
tender and cool the April air.
You arrive late, by too many years,
but none the less, I am pleased you're here.

Come sit beside me, as close as you can;
your glance is so cheerful, so mild.
This small blue notebook is full of poems
I wrote while still a child.

Forgive the fact that I longed for you
and seldom enjoyed the sun.
Forgive me, forgive me, for having found you
in the arms of so many other men.

(Anna Akhmatova)

 

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