Speaking In Tongues
Scribbling In Voices

Anatole S.Troshin

A Sonnet

I was not fit for dreary meditation ó
Thoughts of renewal and future subjugation.
To the wild drive of the forthcoming spring
Besieged, me. And when I was wandering

Your face, a masterpiece of nature, shone
Through miserable troubles of to-day.
It halted me on my uncertain way
And altered it, but it is still unknown

How far I'll go while early spring advances.
One thing is clear. If anything is true,
With my by now sophisticated senses
I canít confine to just adoring you,

Though there's an omen: folly will extend
My heart's and Reason's burning argument.