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You must write for children in the same way as you do for adults, only better. - Maxim Gorky

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     SONG OF A LAST MEETING

Though I stepped o'er the threshold lightly,
At my heart icy fingers clawed,
And the glove I wore on my right hand
On my left hand belonged, I saw.

Steps ... so many, they left me panting,
But I knew  there were only three.
From the maples there came  a plaintive
Whisper autumnal: "Die with me!

"I'm betrayed  by my bleak, my changeful,
By my mischievous fate..." "I too!"
I replied. "O my love, my angel,
I will die, I will die with you..."

One last song, song of one last meeting...
Dark the house ... I looked up, went on.
In the bedroom window a fleeting
Yellow light impassively shone.

1911