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Alexey K. Tolstoy
"A WELL, AND THE CHERRY TREES SWAYING"
A well, and the cherry trees swaying
Where bare girlish feet trod the fruit;
Nearby the damp imprint betraying
The stamp of a heavy nailed boot.
Stilled now is the place of their meeting,
But nothing the silence avails:
In my brain passion's echo repeating
Their whispers—the splash of the pails.
