Irony by Olga Mishkin

A black, fathomless night,

Myriads of twinkling stars

Looking down upon a graveyard—

A dark, mysterious graveyard,

Cold, uncanny silent.

And many, many fireflies,

Dancing little fireflies,

Flitting in and out among the tombstones,

Tiny sparks of light

Hovering over tombstones,

Cold hard tombstones.
Two young lovers,

Beautiful, happy lovers,

Sitting on a dead slab of stone,

Embracing on a spiteful, scorning stone.

And the stars are merrily winking,

And the glow-worms are joyously twinkling.
A loud devilish laughter,

A derisive, piercing laughter—

The heart is chilled with fear—

An open groove of earth,

A coverless, gaping grave;

A form,

A white, transparent form,

A shimmering, uncertain form!

A pointing, mocking finger—

And laughter!