<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454309" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Conversation With A Genius</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like mountains - on this brow<br>Laurels of praise.<br>'I can't sing!'<br>- 'You will!' - 'Sound</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Put me on a diet<br>of flour!)<br>Like milk -<br>Is gone from my breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Empty. Dry.<br>In full-blown spring?<br>I feel like a twig.'<br>- 'That's an old song!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drop it, don't blabber!'<br>'From now on I'd better -<br>Pound gravel!'<br>- 'All the more reason to sing!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Am I a bullfinch,<br>To sing<br>Day in and day out?'<br>- 'Even if you can't,<br>My bird, sing!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out of spite!'<br>'What if I can't<br>put two lines together?'<br>-'When could - anyone?!' -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'It's torture!' - 'Bear it!'<br>'A mown meadow -<br>My throat!' 'Then wheeze:<br>That's a sound, too!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'It's lions' business<br>Not women's.' - 'Children's:<br>Though disembowelled -<br>Orpheus still sang!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'So, even in the grave?'<br>- 'Under a headstone, too.'<br>'I can't sing!'<br>- 'Sing about that!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Marina+Ivanovna+Tsvetaeva">Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454309" data-title="Conversation With A Genius de Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva" data-description="Like mountains - on this brow Laurels of praise. 'I can't sing!' - 'You will!' - 'Sound (Put me on a diet of flour!) Like milk - Is gone from my breast. Empty. Dry. In full-blown spring? I feel like a twig.' - 'That's an old song! Drop it, don'..."></div> </div> </div>

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