Literature and Poetry/
Rosh Hashana

Mira Meir

The squill

Along the paths in our fields
The swords of the squill are drawn
And winds blow in our house
Whispering on my ear that it's already autumn
We'll take out the sweater and wear it
 And let's go hiking together.
The holidays are already passing us by
In their festive and gloomy mood
the matting too is already spread out over our heads
And we absorbed its fragrant smell
And a last pomegranate in our garden
already sang its enchanted song.


There is no escaping daily routine from now on
We'll just watch for the rains to come
And quietly the flowers of the squill
On the sides of the thirsty fields
That's how we'll turn white in the autumn bloom
Against the first gold leaves.


Don't say it's all coming back here
But you'll say it is so every year,
Because the sadness that passes here
It is as new as a first kiss
And autumn is young and singing here
In a white squill bloom.

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