• Язык:
    Английский (English)

A Workman


A red-glowing forge, a small
old man, standing;
red eyelids blinking
and his face submissive, calm.

The others are asleep,
he’s alone, busy
casting the bullet that will cut me
away from the earth.

Done — and his eyes grow gayer.
He goes home. The moon is shining;
his wife, sleepy and warm,
lies waiting in a big bed.

His bullet will whistle
across this Russian river,
will find my heart.
It has come to find me.

I will fall, twisting, I will see
history as history was,
while my blood will rush
like a fountain on the dusty, beaten grass.

And the Lord will reward me, yea
in full, for this swift and bitter
life. And this was done by the small
old man in the faded grey blouse.

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