You Do Not Know Just What You've

I Seem To Myself, As In A Dream, Am Accidental Guest In This Dreadful Body.

During The Terrible Years Of The Yekhov Terror I Spent Seventeen Months In The Prison Queues In Leningrad. One Day Someone ‘identified’ Me. Then A Woman With Lips Blue With Cold Who Was Standing Behind Me, And Of Course Had Never Heard Of My Name, Came Out Of The Numbness Which Affected Us All And Whispered In My Ear—(we All Spoke In Whispers There): ‘could You Describe This?’ I Said, ‘i Can!’ Then Something Resembling A Smile Slipped Over What Had Once Been Her Face.

You Do Not Know Just What You've Been Forgiven.

Real Tenderness Can't Be Confused, It's Quiet And Can't Be Heard.

It Was A Time When Only The Dead Smiled, Happy In Their Peace.