Here you will find the Poem False Alarm of poet Boris Pasternak
From early morning-nonsense With tubs and troughs and strain, With dampness in the evening And sunsets in the rain. Deep sighing of the darkness And choking swallowed tears, A railway engine's calling Down from the sixteenth verst. Outside and in the garden A short fast-darkening day; Small breakages and losses In true September way. In daytime autumn's vastness Beyond the stream is rent By wailing in the graveyard, By anguish and lament. But when the widow's sobbing Is carried from the bank, With all my blood I'm with her And see my death point-blank. As every year I see it Out of the hall downstairs, The long-delayed approaching Of this my final year. Through leaves in yellow terror, Its way swept clear, I see That winter from the hillside Is staring down at me.
