He will return to the place where never was,
in a day without nights, he will return.

On the last day of winter,
with the white ceiling illuminating his eyes.
He will return.

In the morning when he is absent,
with the same look when they met.

When not one hear they,
When no one feels,
When no one looks at them.


With his hands of leaves and tree,
With a forgotten name,
He will come back.

In the Olam-Haba that he just knew,
on his own Olam-Haba,
They will return.