Author Anna Akhmatova Although this land is not my own, I will remember its inland sea and the waters that are so cold the sand as white as old bones, the pine trees strangely red where the sun comes down. I cannot say if it is our love, or the day, that is ending. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 3 (3 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments