Everything

 Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded,

black death’s wing’s overhead.

Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated,

so why does a light shine ahead?


By day, a mysterious wood, near the town,

breathes out cherry, a cherry perfume.

By night, on July’s sky, deep, and transparent,

new constellations are thrown.


And something miraculous will come

close to the darkness and ruin,

something no-one, no-one, has known,

though we’ve longed for it since we were children.

Anna Akhmatova


Here I am to Worship



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