marina tsvetaeva – 6 September 1936

Thinking of somebody else, somebody
Unique, like treasure I’ve yet to discover,
Step by step, and poppy by poppy,
I beheaded the garden, flower by flower.

Exactly thus, some dry summer, one day,
On the edge of the field where I’ll stand,
My own head will also be plucked away
By Death’s absent-minded hand.

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