I do not miss

Ezra ha-Yona

I do not miss my mother's fussing voice and hands
but her songs, aye, and good warm meals, I miss dear.
I do not miss my father's rod, his barked commands
but hsi laughrer, like music, light, purest cheer.
I do not miss the damnable harvest's toil,
but the Sun's sweet warmth, O G-d, feels no longer near.
I do not miss what lies behind my long road,
but to never turn back to home, 'tis my greatest fear.

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