לְיַד הָרַכֶּבֶת רָאִינוּ שְׁכָבוֹת בָּהָר זוֹ עַל זוֹ, קְדוּמוֹת, קֶשֶׁת עַל קֶשֶׁת גַּם אֲנַחְנוּ נִהְיֶה כָּךְ, אוּלַי מָחָר יַחְדָו, צְמוּדִים, וְגָבֹהָ מֵעָל - הַדֶּשֶׁא אָמַרְתִי לָךְ שֶׁיִהְיֶה כָּךְ - וְלֹא הֶאֱמַנְתְּ

By the train we saw layers in the mountain, one upon another, ancient, arch upon arch. We too shall be like that, perhaps tomorrow— together, pressed close, and high above—the grass. I told you it would be so—and you did not believe.

כָּל הַלַּילָה עָמַל הַיָּרֵחַ כִּמְטֹרָף וְטִשְׁטֵשׁ נִגּוּדִים וּסְתִירוֹת וְהִרְגִּיעַ דָּם וָמַיִם יַלְדָּתִי, אֵין עוֹד הֶבְדֵּל עַכְשָו כְּדִין כָּל הָעוֹלָם הוּא דִין הַשְּנַים אָמַרְתִּי לָךְ שֶיִּהְיֶה כָּך – וְלֹא הֶאֱמַנְתַּ

All night the moon labored like one possessed and blurred oppositions and contradictions and calmed blood and water. My child, there is no difference now: as is only right, the law of the whole world is the law of two. I told you it would be so—and you did not believe.

הַפְּתִילִיָה וְהַסִּיר שֶׁעָלֶיהָ – בְּנַחַת מָה אִכְפַּת לִשְנֵיהֶם, הֵם זֶה לָזֶה רוֹחֲשִׁים גַּם אֲנַחְנוּ עוֹד נִהְיֶה כָּךְ בְּיַחַד אדוּמִּים וְחַמִּים וְאֶחָד בַּשֵנִי לוֹחֲשִים אָמַרְתִּי לָךְ שֶיִהְיֶה כָּך –וְלֹא הֶאֱמַנְתְּ

The kerosene stove and the pot upon it—at ease; what do they care—each murmurs to the other. We too shall yet be like that, together— red and warm, whispering one into the other. I told you it would be so—and you did not believe.

יֵשׁ בָּנוּ נְגִינָה וְאַין בָּנוּ דֵּי רַעַם מָתַי סוֹף-סוֹף נִלְמַד לִהְיוֹת קָשִׁים? הַכְּפִירִים, נַעֲרָה, אֵינָם רְעֵבִים אַף פַּעַם רַק צַדִּיקִים וּכְבָשִׂים רְעֵבִים וְרָשִׁים אָמַרְתִּי לָךְ שֶיִהְיֶה כָּך – וְלֹא הֶאֱמַנְתְּ

There is music in us and not enough thunder in us. When, at long last, will we learn to be hard? The young lions, girl, are never hungry— only the righteous and the sheep are hungry and poor. I told you it would be so—and you did not believe.

רְאִי, אַהֲבָתֵנוּ הִיא עַכְשָו בְּלִי גְבוּל וְהִגַעְנוּ לַגְּבוּל שֶאֵין בּוֹ אַהֲבָה הַשוֹמְרִים אָמְרוּ סִסְמָתָם וְהַשַׁעַר נָעוּל הַיְלָדִים הָלְכוּ הַבֹּיְתָה,הַחַֹשְׁמַל כָּבּה אָמַרְתִּי לָךְ שֶיִהְיֶה כָּך – וְלֹא הֶאֱמַנְתְּ

See, our love is now without border, and we have reached the border in which there is no love. The guards spoke their password and the gate is locked. The children went home, the electricity went out. I told you it would be so—and you did not believe.