Literature and Poetry/
Yom Kippur

Tzahaki Sarig

Epilouge

Winter 1973

My pale dead smile to me,
Rows upon rows.
My beloved.

Close by, and their joyful voice in my ears
And their image awake, sensed.

Awfully beautiful and vivid.

Alas.

I am here and they are scattered upon the earth.

Rains, winds and wood
A refuge for them, and camaraderie.

They are my comrades, my days of youth.

To my end

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