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Let a lesson be learnt
by every child on their fours,
that we all come from dirt –
no history to the earth.
Dead fingers clench
what used to be grass,
seen through innocent eyes,
as all comes to pass.
And tomorrow shall rise,
when seasons are at pause;
springtime will flourish
and all will be as it was.
But the cause - the cause
of all this was born years before,
by a mere look from you
that had healed a heart at war.
As the falling angel I was,
the falling child, tumbling down,
down the slopes to adulthood –
to unearth a worn crown.
Carry me on, on to my end –
with a smile, with a sigh;
it’s the memory of my time
that has told you this lie.
Cry dearest creature,
be sad for the seasons that fail;
the land – unforgiving terrain,
as the sun left your skin coloured pale.
Lead this journey, or leave
me behind to watch you be gone;
what a cold summer waits
for those who will walk it alone.
Carmel Livni
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