The Poem

by Jiri Mordecai Langer (1894 - 1943)

The poem
that I chose for you
is simple,
as are all my singing poems.

It has the trace of a veil,
a little balsam,
and a taste of the honeyof lies.

There is also
the coming end of summer
when heat scorches the meadow
and the quick waters
of the river
cease to flow.