My days are engraved in my poems like years in the rings of a tree like the years of my life in the furrows of my brow - Leah Goldberg

How the passing of Time tries me,
its double reckoning my duty and my right:
Every day it constructs and ruins me
completing thus my life and my death.

The years have made up my face
with memories of loves
and have adorned my hair with light silver threads
making me most beautiful.
In my eyes are reflected
the landscapes.
And paths I have trod
have straightened my stride –
tired and lovely steps.
If you should see me now
you would not recognize your yesterdays –
I am walking toward myself
with a face you searched for in vain
when I was walking toward you.

The world is heavy on our eyelids