Anna Akhmatova

My neighbours, for pities, - a two blocks more,
Old women, for customs, – until the gate,
But he, whose hand was in mine afore,
Will go with me where my pit is settled.
And will he, alone, stand on the ground -
O’er the black, native and mellow soils,
And loudly call for me, but won’t resound
Him, as before, my warmhearted voice.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August 6, 2002