Her outstretched arms

Her outstretched arms were arms of all fate,

That was about to end up soon.

Her face, which had a hue of sulfate,

Was colored by a silver moon.

 

The wind had laugh, but he can’t savor

The sounds of suicidal scream.

Her deadly sins had gentle flavor

And slowly melted like ice cream.

 

(1950)

 

Irina Odoyevtseva