Where else can be found one such as he,
Who was as the weeping willows.
At the foot of the hill he was born, by the stream.
In the winter he would sing among the weeping willows
In the summer among the glinting reflection of the water,
His bread he would cast into the stream for the fish,
From the reeds he plucked for a kite,
And when he became a man,
From the stalks of the weeping willows he erected a sukkah,
From the grey stones of the fort he built himself a home,
By the waters of the stream he constructed a mill,
Sowing fields,
And sending that which he reaped across the seas in merchant vessels,
But there were moments when he would lay down the tools of his craft,
And in that instant become another man.
Where else can be found one such as he,
Who was as the weeping willows.
At the foot of the hill he was born, by the stream
A carefree childhood on the hill and in the valleys,
And on one cloudless morning when he falls on his land,
He would be gifted eternal rest,
By the quiet tributaries.
Where else can be found one such as he,
Who was as the weeping willows.
And who was as the ancient fortress at the end of his journey.
Where else can be found one such as he,
Who was as the weeping willows.