You re walking...

You're walking, so much alike me;
You're lowering down your face.
I used to do so politely.
Stop, passerby, slack your pace.

A bunch of crowfoot, verbena
and poppies is picked. Now, read:
my name was "marine" - Marina,
and that to this date I lived.

Don't think it's a grave. Keep chaffing!
I won't rise for you to haunt.
I also, like you, loved laughing
In cases when one ought not.

My curls were so wavy, twisted.
And blood to my face, then, flowed.
I also, indeed, existed!
Bypasser, I beg you "Hault!".

Now, pluck a wild stem and, later,
a berry, - you must agree -
it's nowhere so sweeter, greater
than that from a cemetery.

Don't gloomily stand, don't tremble,
don't hang - on the chest - your head!
about me - with ease - remember!
about me - with ease - forget!

It seems that's the sun you're made of.
You're gilded with dusty rounds.
Bypasser, don't be affraid of
my singing from underground.