IN ATTIC LIGHT

Memory
Nikita Turbina

I want to be with you alone
To sit at the old house
That house stands by the river
Whose name is memory.
The print of your bare foot
Smells of last Summer's sun.
Where we wandered together
On the grass, not mown yet,
The skies were so blue,
Disappearing behind the gates.
And the voices were ringing,
That is all
I can remember.
And the days' accounting
Has come to an end
Like a flock of birds
All the days
Have gathered at my feet.
What do I treat them to?
No more lines are left...