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Looking for that which apparently no longer exists. However what I have found still holds me.
I'm looking for a place for a grave.
Do you know of somewhere brighter?
It's so cold in the fields. And dreary are
The heaps of stones along the shore.
But she is accustomed to peace,
And she loves the light of the sun.
I'll build a cell for her,
To be our home for many years.
Between the windows will be a little door,
We will light an icon lamp inside,
It will be like a dark heart
Burning with a vermillion fire.
She raved, you know, when she was sick,
About another, a heavenly place,
But a monk said, reproaching her:
"Not for you; sinners don't go to Paradise."
And then, white with pain,
She whispered: "I will go with you."
Now we are all alone, and free,
With blue surf at our feet.
[Jul 07 2002, last modified Jul 11 2002]