Vova, Vladimir Vladimirovich,
Little Volodya, did your sainted Babushka
never tell you?
Pale Moth of the Kremlin,
Pansies are perennial, the toughest
No matter how much you crush them
beneath the heels of your big boots
they will always come up again
staring at you with their sad little faces
and the mascara bruises
of their eyes.
They will spring up out of your grave,
they will rise laughing
over the gleaming ice-cream
of St Basil’s,