I guess the stars are high
But I can’t see them any more I saw them once in Vermont though When I was my own ancestor And I am comfortable In my underground cave Beneath the city and the tree With no need yet to be brave. Before I see the stars again I must polish my glasses Here with the glint of the quartz Amidst the crevasses. For all of the stars are crying Here underground And one day I will hear them sing Without any sound.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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