(2) Madame Ranevskaya’s Reverie
I dance beneath boughs heavy with spring,
wine-warm laughter on my tongue.
The air tastes of childhood and lost letters—
murmurs of father, of home.
Yet every footstep echoes farewell;
hope, a threadbare gown I once wore.
I sip nostalgia like champagne—
sweet, effervescent, and gone too fast.
.