Poem By gershon hepner
Summer’s dying in the russet and the gold
of leaves that fall obscurely in the wood
where lives must set as we must all grow old,
and in the west the clouds show signs of blood.
In public gardens Yidden lift their eyes
and see the storks ignore what lies below,
to join the sun that, in the southern skies,
won’t melt on northern roofs the sleet and snow.
Jews’ hearts become like orphans without heat,
adopted by cold rain that soaks the skin,
bequeathed with coats which help them to compete
with winter storms by keeping warmth within.
Freely translated from the Hebrew by Chaim Nahman Bialik.