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The Snow Sifts Down

Sieved fine, the snow sifts down tonight

drifts down strand by strand.

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It is a good time to talk of the past

and reach out for your hand.

It's sweet to sit here in the dusk

not begrudging hours slipped by,

not fearing the dawn creeping up,

hiding in the eastern sky.

I don't feel time rushing on,

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but sit un-clocked and slow,

hearing, like old lullabies,

your soft words fall like snow.

translated from the Armenian

by Diana Der-Hovanessian