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translated from the Hebrew by Aura Hammer

Poets do not retire
On reaching their time to be silent, Praising the 
beauty of Jerusalem
They are pushed slowly eastward
Thrust aside forgotten to the desert.
And there, suddenly in absolute secrecy Drop mutely 
from the cliff,
And the bone of their poetry, drying Bleaching and 
gathering dust
Descends to the cave opening.
Sinks slowly, gathered
In the dust cloud of the scrolls.