Meeting

Evening dimmed, like ourselves charmed With this first warmth of the spring. Stirring alive, Arbat was alarmed; With sympathetic tenderness, the kind Gale touched us with a tired wing. In our souls, raised on a fairy tale, Sorrow quietly cried for past things. He came - so unexpected! So hurriedly - He who helped in all things before. And far off in a line unconsolably The streetlamps' radiant dots Burned though light darkness some more… All around flowers we bought; We bought a bouquet.. What for? Quietly withered away unseen garden In the sky violet-red. How to be saved from late trouble? All returned. For a moment? For long? We speechlessly looked at sun going to bed, And Gogol nodded, thoughtful, from The pedestral like a brother, sad.