On This Day

On this day they break bread

And gather the fruit into the basket.

On this day the sons return home

And the daughters await them in the doorway.

On this day the clouds parade in the heavens

To bring the tidings of blessed showers to wheatfield

and garden.

And in the city, in the alleyways of market places

There rise up the fragances of butter and oil,

There sparkle the scales of the fishes,

The wine brims.

How can you die, my soul, on this day!

That is so lovely and full,

That is so simple and overflowing,

That is light,

That is day,

That is day like all days!

How can you go down to rest

Before his tumult abates,

How can you bid him farewell

Before his clamour grows quiet,

How can you walk mourning

Before his merriment is crushed,

How can you enter your eternal night

Before you have kissed the first star.