going, at me like – Marina Tsvetaeva

going, at me like,
Eyes are down.
I omit them - too!
passer, stop!

Read - night blindness
And typing a bouquet of poppies -
What they called me Marina
And how old I was.

Do not think, here - the tomb,
That I will appear, lig ...
I'm too fond of herself
Laugh, when you can not!

And the blood flows to the skin,
And my curls curled ...
I was also, passer!
passer, stop!

Grab yourself a stalk wild
And berries after him:
cemetery strawberries
Larger and sweeter than no.

But do not stand sullenly,
Chapter drooping chest.
It is easy to think of me,
It is easy to forget about me.

Like a ray illuminate you!
You're covered in gold dust ...
- And do not be confused
My voice out of the ground.

Коктебель, 3 May 1913

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