Solitude by Anna Akhmatova So many stones are thrown at me That I no longer cower, The turret's cage is shapely, High among high towers. My thanks, to its builders, May they evade pain and woe, Here, I see suns rise earlier, Here, their last splendours glow. And often winds from northern seas Fill the windows of my sanctuary, And a dove eats corn from my palm… And divinely light and calm, The Muse's sunburnt hand's at play, Finishing my unfinished page. @one_story