Where are other people like that man?

Who was like the weeping willows.

At the foot of the mountain he was born

Near the stream.

In the winter he sang among weeping willows

In the summer between the lights of the water

 

He cast his bread across the river to fish

From the reeds he cut a kite

And when he became a man

From the stems of the weeping willows he made a Sukkah,

From the stones of the gray fortress he built a house,

With the stream's water he built a mill,

He planted fields.

He sent his might across the sea in merchant ships.

But sometimes he would lay down his utensils,

And suddenly become a different man.

 

Where are there other people like that man?

Who was like the weeping willows.

At the foot of the mountain he was born

Near the stream.

 

He'd stroll absentmindedly on the mountain or in the woods.

And when he'd fall on an unhazy morning on his land,

He will be granted an everlasting estate,

Near the quiet aqueduct.

 

Where are there other people like that man?

Who was like the weeping willows.

And like an ancient fortress was the end of the road.