Spring In Town
by Yoseph Rubenshteyn
In my village it’s now green,
In twilight can be heard the buzz of bees.
and all is blue and sad and sweet
in evening’s haunting hour.
Though I’ve not been there for a long, long time.
I hear the groaning rock of bridges through my feet,
the plaster wailing on the wall
through my hands,
and the blue house crying
on the square,
and on the window pane –
the sunset’s last tear.