When the ice will creak
Between green shoes, and from the pale
Blue bitter airs
Barbarous globes of spring
Will break through.

We will be far away.

We would like to return and look,
Caress the clover of the heaths
The doorposts of the new home
Cry in pity
Where our mother passed.

Instead we will be far away.

Instead we prisoners
Will laugh without respite
And hate as far as the knife
Blades are gripped.
Damned those who lead us.

Far, always far away.

And when we have returned
wild grass will cover the courtyards
and the breath of the dead in the air.
The creases on the hands,
the rust on the shovels.

And still we will be far.

We will still be far
From the face that welcomes us in our sleep
here, tired of hate and love.

But new hands will come
As new leaves do.

Now to our distant camps.

But the bud will open
And the water spring speak, as it once did.
You will shine, buried stone,
Our ancient human heart,
Raw shard, bare law.

In the gaze of the distant sky.