Bankside along Nevas winding course
stands the grand home of an amber room
another with malachite columns
where the Tsars prefered to spend cold winters.
In thier summer palace of fountains
the archers arrow follows your eye
here in the Venice of the far north.
A night train I ride to the Red Square
where I can marvel ai Saint Basils
with her multicolored, shaped spires.
On my last day three hours eastward
a kremlin of wood from long ago
a monastery of chanting monks.
My Russian odyssey has ended.