I love how simple her life, the world she lives inside. With everyone scattering to and fro to make impressions these days, the white static of an over-colored society, with wars in far away lands and too much bad news to even digest in one reading...this poem is a tall glass of red wine. It's a precious, quiet evening spent alone with no where to go and nothing to be done. It's a place I want to live inside.
by Anna Akhmatova
I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my useless sadness.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I write down happy verses
about life's decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffly cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly,
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stock landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.