Let my heiress have full rights,Live in my house, sing songs that I composed.Yet how slowly my strength ebbs,How the tortured breast craves air.The love of my friends, my enemies’ rancorAnd the yellow roses in...
—Anna Akhmatova
The sacred bequestOf times long spent with your heartThat saturate and illuminate you nowSo piercingly…
—Scott Hastie
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