Anastasia Zueva Platonovna

Excuse me. I regret.
I can not. I will not come.
but mentally – on the anniversary,
In an abandoned seventh row.
I stand and rejoice, and weep,
And looking for the appropriate words,
Cry any random,
And endlessly applaud.
It softened the harsh,
Losing the novelty of words.
talent – only news,
Which is always new.
changing repertoires,
Aging life of pie.
You can not get used to the only gift,
When he is so great, how's your.
He upset all calculations
And younger every day,
There is a supernatural something
And something magical in it.
To you in dreams wrote Ostrovsky
And you anticipated Cast,
raised up for you a world of Moscow
Donosčic, prizhivalok, svakh.

The movement of the hand and forearm,
frill, singsong speech
resurrected Zamoskvoreche
Saints and sinners, spinsters.

You – authenticity, you – witchery,
You are an inspiration.
This all at a distance
Let me tell you a letter.

22 February 1957

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Boris Pasternak
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