Hands clasped, under the dark veil.
«Today, why are you so pale?»
– Because I’ve made him drink his fill
Of sorrow’s bitter tale.

How could I forget? He staggered,
His mouth twisted with pain...
I ran down not touching the rail,
I ran all the way to the gate.

«I was joking,» I cried, breathlessly.
«If you go away, I am dead.»
Smiling strangely, calmly,
«Don’t stand in the wind,» he said.
By Anna Akhmatova

Lately I haven't had the energy to draw anything big and full-fledged, so I've been just redrawing old works.