'It was not mystery or grief,'
by Anna Akhmatova
It was not mystery or grief,
Nor the wise will of fate –
It was the impression of strife,
Our meetings always left behind.
From dawn I'd anticipate
The moment when you'd appear,
Feeling faint stabbing pains
All along my folded arms.
And with dry fingers I'd crumple
The table's chequered cloth…
I knew then, already,
How small this earth truly is.
6.5
Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add 'It was not mystery or grief,' to your own personal library.
Add 'It was not mystery or grief,' to your own personal library.
Return to the Anna Akhmatova Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; 'I've written down the words'
