Chestnuts on Pushkin Street
Remember the giant chestnuts
Along our Pushkin Street,
And how we adored in the autumn
To hunt for them, brown and sleek?
My chestnuts would go into battle
In rows on the floor in my room,
And yours — I don’t know where they settled.
Remember the chestnuts in bloom?
No chestnuts like these in my country:
New home, new trees and new ways.
I picked up a few in Milano,
These gemstones of childhood days.
In Paris they are not the same,
The edible kind, you know.
Madrid — found some, but too lame —
The good ones still needed to grow.
There are no more chestnuts, I hear,
These days along Pushkin street.
In dreams they still bloom, never fear…
I gather them, brown and sleek.
Editor’s Note: The rich narrative lines of this poem support a somewhat somber tone, especially evident in the closing line.
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