“Shalom” she’d call,

Bouncing down the stairs

Bursting into the kitchen

Coat and boots on ready

En route to cook popcorn in the microwave

En route to her journey.

You couldn’t have missed her

Even though you were concentrated

On fixing the stove

Mending the pipe

Checking the oil-flow.

She was a fast-moving hurricane

Sweeping all up before her

Concentrating attention.

Yes, old man, venerable as you are

With your tales of the Palmach

And your own mourning-

There was no way you could have missed

Her youthful energy.

21/12/05