The Seventh in November

Army unit, winter evening,
Soldiers in green uniforms,
Old wood hut, canteen hors d’oeuvre,
Woody Allen on a screen.

On a sofa sit together,
A soldier, soldieress, very young,
The conversation between them flowing,
Discovering and telling.

The surroundings as if vanished,
Between them a world is formed,
Curiosity, worry, wonder, whether,
Any of this is going anywhere.

As the evening ends, together,
Ride they catch from army base,
Little car is fast driving,
To the metropoline of Tel Aviv.

At the Central Station they depart, thank the driver,
Step in step toward the sea,
On the main avenue they’re walking,
Slowly, there is no rush.

Rain is falling and again stops,
The streets are empty, dark,
The conversation is not disturbed,
An umbrella they now share.

So and so two hours passed there,
Night and getting very late,
First kiss, is stretching, slowly,
We shall meet again tomorrow.

Next day came and the day after,
And many thousands good days,
Then in a Tel Avivian rain,
We set to a together life.