These cold grey winter days
Which come so rarely in Jerusalem
Bring me back
To Troy New York in my childhood
Harsh dreary and invigorating Sundays-
Exultant and angry
My father my brother and I
Walked miles and miles to nowhere-
Now with them gone
Old alone I slowly walk with them in memory
And the joy of being alive
Is too sad and too great for words
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem