User:JerryFriedman/Dagestan


 * At steaming noon in a valley in Dagestan
 * With a hole in my breast I lay motionless.
 * The wound still smoked foully
 * My blood flowed in a river of drops.


 * I lay alone on the sand of the valley;
 * The ledges of the crags crowded around,
 * And the sun burned their yellow peaks.
 * And burned me, but I slept a dead sleep/dream.


 * And dreamed of a flame-lit
 * Evening banquet in my native place.
 * Among young women, crowned with blooming colors,
 * A cheerful conversation about me went on.


 * But not joining in the cheerful conversation,
 * One of them sat there, thoughtful,
 * And in a melancholy dream her young soul
 * In God knows what was submerged.


 * And she dreamed of a valley in Dagestan;
 * A corpse she knew lay in that valley;
 * In his breast smoked the blackening wound,
 * And blood flowed in cooling streams.