Yehuda Amichai

After you left me / I let a dog smell at / My chest and my belly. It will fill its nose

On a little hill amid fertile fields lies a small cemetery, / a Jewish cemetery behind a rusty gate, hidden by shrubs, / abandoned and forgotten. Neither the sound of prayer

A man doesn't have time in his life / to have time for everything. / He doesn't have seasons enough to have

A man doesn't have time in his life / to have time for everything. / He doesn't have seasons enough to have

They amputated / Your thighs off my hips. / As far as I'm concerned

A precise woman with a short haircut brings order / to my thoughts and my dresser drawers, / moves feelings around like furniture

An Arab shepherd is searching for his goat on Mount Zion / And on the opposite hill I am searching for my little boy. / An Arab shepherd and a Jewish father

And we shall not get excited. Because a translator / May not get excited. Calmly, we shall pass on / Words from man to son, from one tongue

Do not accept these rains that come too late. / Better to linger. Make your pain / An image of the desert. Say it's said

A night drive to Ein Yahav in the Arava Desert, / a drive in the rain. Yes, in the rain. / There I met people who grow date palms,