Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

(8 October 1892 – 31 August 1941 / Moscow)

From Four Till Seven - Poem by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

Like in a mirror, there's shade in the heart
I'm bored alone - and with men…
Slowly drags the light of the day
From four till seven!
Everybody is cruel in the dusk,
Don't go to people - they'll lie.
Fingers have wound into a knot
The kerchief. I want to cry.
Only don't torture me so,
If you hurt me I'll forgive!
From four till seven o'clock
I endlessly grieve.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 13, 2010



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