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My steps are set down stiffly
on tired, empty paths.
This morning a little town of Jews
called me “Anti-Semite!”
All of them in wrinkles and in rags
out there pointing at me:
“Him! That guy! We…
Pass on, pass on, you lonely grandfathers,
With frightened beards covered with snow,
In the last sorrow, in the final grief
You’re still here, the final witnesses.
Pass on, pass on, you lonely…
Like every shtetl Medzibosz has a main street, and side streets and back streets. Nowadays the old hunched little huts have mostly vanished, and there are new houses in their place—not everywhere.
Thi…
Had I fastened
The cradle on a rafter,
And rocked it—and rocked it.
My little son, my Yankl.
But the house has vanished
Into a fiery dome,
How then can I rock
My little son, my own?
Had I…