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The twenty-first. Night. Monday



© Igor Medvedev

The twenty-first. Night. Monday.
The city skyline in the mist.
Wrote some bum,
What is love on earth.

And from laziness or boredom
All believe and live:
Waiting for dates, afraid of separation
And sing love songs.

But otherwise the mystery is revealed,
And rests on them silence...
To this I stumbled
And since then everything seems sick.

© Anna Akhmatova

Source: /users/1077
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