Here on Earth — not in high clouds —
On this mother earth that is close:
To sorrow in her sadness, exult in her meager joy
That knows, so well, how to console.
Not nebulous tomorrow but today: solid, warm, mighty,
Today materialized in the hand:
Of this single, short day to drink deep
Here in our own land.
Before night falls — come, oh come all!
A unified stubborn effort, awake
With a thousand arms. Is it impossible to roll
The stone from the mouth of the well?
© Rachel Bluwstein