The Stones Have Not Aged Poem by Shalom Freedman

From Metudelah St
Looking across the Valley of the Cross
The stones have not aged
The Museum the Knesset
The hard block of white buildings
On the ridge
All appear as they were
More than forty years ago
When I first came here
And there were such clear signs of aging
Signals of pain on my old body-

I look out with longing
How and why have the years gone by?
What has my life meant?

The stones do not say
I do not know if I can either
On this beautiful bright passing
Spring in winter Jerusalem morning.