God is unkind to gardeners and reapers.Slanted rain coils and falls from up highAnd the wide raincoats catch water,That once had reflected the sky.In underwater realm are fields and meadowsAnd the free currents sing a lot,Plums rupture on bloated branchesAnd grass strands, lying down, rot.And through the dense and watery netI see your darling face,A quiet park, a round porchAnd a Chinese arbour-place.
-Anna Akhmatova
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