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The Windmill in Yemin Moshe

by Yehuda Amichai

This windmill never ground flour.
It ground holy air and Bialik’s
Birds of longing, it ground
Words and ground time, it ground
Rain and even shells
But it never ground flour.

Now it’s discovered us,
And grinds our lives day by day
Making out of us the flour of peace
Making out of us the bread of peace
For the generation to come.

Translated by Glenda Abramson and Tudor Parfit
Taken from "Poems of Jerusalem" Schocken Publishing House Ltd.

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