Between her boulders in the Galilee,
In the mountains? lap hidden still,
In the Kinneret is mirrored
Rosh Pina?s eye ? a hidden hill.
How fair you are, my Rosh Pina,
A diadem that does shine,
You are engaged to me in blood and suffering
Mine, mine, mine.
A path paved down the hill,
Between the stones a new path does bring.
Oaks spread out their canopy,
And to Ben-Yosef silently sing.
Between the valley and the peak
A grave was delved that won?t die.
Oaks nod sadly grieving:
Lie, lie, lie.
And with midnight
A voice vibrates and isn?t still:
The peak?s head is not conquered
If there isn?t a grave on the hill!
And in the silence in the starlight
A regiment toils up the ground
And every step ? a harp is sighing:
Sound, sound, sound.
Written by Shlomo Skulski, Rosh Pina, 1941.
Translated by Shifra Shomron, Nitzan Caravilla site, 23 Tishrei 5765 (October 2005).
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