Нужно написать письмо другу на языке! ​

ответ:

dear alice,

i'm so happy to receive your letter! thanks for it very much. you asked how i spent my summer holidays, so i`ll tell you now.

you know i live in sochi, so we have no need to leave our place. i spent much time with my family and went out every evening to have fun with friends. there was a festival of open music in july, so we had opportunity to listen to cool music.

later in august i visited my grandma, she lives in a small village near sochi. i read a lot of books, gathered berries and had warm and pleasant conversations with grandma. i love her so much!

so i start a new school year full of desire of knowledge.  

waiting for your letter.

best wishes, camilla.

anna akhmatova - was the pen name of anna andreevna gorenko, the leader and the heart and soul of st petersburg tradition of russian poetry in the course of half a century.

akhmatova's work ranges from short lyric poems to universalized, ingeniously structured cycles, such as requiem (1935-40), her tragic masterpiece on the stalinist terror. her work addresses a variety of themes including time and memory, the fate of creative women, and the difficulties of living and writing in the shadow of stalinism.

early life

akhmatova was born in bolshoy fontan near odessa. her childhood does not appear to have been happy; her parents separated in 1905. she was educated in kiev, tsarskoe selo, and the smolny institute of st petersburg. anna started writing poetry at the age of 11, inspired by her favourite poets: racine, pushkin, and baratynsky. as her father did not want to see any verses printed under his "respectable" name, she had to adopt the surname of one of her tatar ancestors as a pseudonym.

The clouds are gray, gloomy, rain is not far off. autumn. bare ground fog zavoloka. that is my only weapon of satiety, the only weapon to keep warm, sporting, strigunka catches in the steppe strigunok. no grass, no tulips. and everywhere was quiet voiced hubbub of children, young guys laughing. and the trees, like the poor old men, are the bare, bereft of their leaves. the skin of a bull, a sheep in a tub tan. repairing old coats and quilted robe. moloduha patch leaky tent, and the old woman for weeks suchat thread. shoals stretched south cranes. caravans of camels passed under them, and in the villages - gloom and silence. laughter fun games were away: winds, becoming colder, chill hurts and old people and children. dogs catch hungry mice field, unable to find, as it did, scraps, bones, wind raises dust - over the steppe black. autumn, damp. but already opened - bad habits - can not kindle the fire. our yurts are now uncomfortably dark.