Love
It snakes into your heart and, coiling up,
Its poison works with subtle skill,
Or else it coos the breadcrumbs on your window-sill.

And now it peeps out from a sleepy flower,
Or flashes suddenly in blinding rime.
But surely, stealthily it lures you farther
Away from simple joys and peace of mind.

You hear it in the violin*s anguished prayer,
A plea of lonelinees and sad regret.
And you*re afraid to even guess it is there
In someone*s smile you dare not trust as yet.
Anna Akhmatova
[457x699]