Leningrad in March 1941
The sundial of the Men’shikovy Dom;
A steamboat with its bow-wave passing by;
O, is there anything on earth that I
Know like that flash of spires reflected from
These waves? A slit-like alley-way grows dark,
Sparrows perch on the wires overhead;
I know by heart every familiar walk;
The tang of salt— that too is not so bad.
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