Moon
Nathan Alterman
1938
An old sight too has its moment of birth.
A birdless sky
Strange and set apart.
Facing your widow on the moonlit night stands
A city plunged in crickets’ tears.
And when you see a road still watching for a wayfarer
And the moon
Is on the cypress spear,
You say: “My God, are all these things still out there?
May one whisper them a greeting?”
Fr…
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