While at a weekly Writer’s Group meeting, I bought a candy bar. Much to my surprise, I found two parts of a poem by Alexander Pushkin inside the wrapper. I must confess never having read any Pushkin before. Now I shall have to seek out his writing. Here’s stanzas III and IV of Autumn.
What fun it is, with feet in sharp steel shod,
To skim the mirror of the smooth and solid streams!
And how about the shining stir of winter feasts? . .
But in the end you must admit that naught but snow
For half the year will even bore a bear
Deep in his den. We cannot ride for ages,
In sleighs with youthful nymphs
Or sulk around the stove behind storm windows.
O, summer fair! I would have loved you, too,
Except for heat and dust and gnats and flies.
You kill off all our mental power,
Torment us; and like fields, we suffer from the drought;
To take a drink, refresh ourselves somehow –
We think of nothing else, and long for lady Winter,
And, having bid farewell to her with pancakes and with wine,
We hold a wake to honor her with ice-cream and with ice.
Have a Happy New Year. Do some reading of good works.