The wheels hurry onward, onward.
What do they carry?
They carry a cartload
Of shivering shoes.
The wagon like a canopy
In the evening light;
The shoes - clustered
Like people in a dance.
A wedding, a holiday?
Has something binded my eyes?
The shoes - I seem
To recognize them.
The heels go tapping
With a clatter and a din.
From our old Vilna streets
They drive us to Berlin.
I should not ask
But something tears at my tongue
Shoes, tell me the truth
Where are they, the feet?
The feet from those boots
With button like dew -
And here, where is the body
And there, where is the bride?
Where is the child
To fill those shoes
Why has the bride
Gone barefoot?
Through the slippers and the boots
I see those my mother used to wear
She kept them for the Sabbath
Her favourite pair.
And the heels go tapping:
With a clatter and a din,
From our old Vilna streets
They drive us to Berlin.