“And who will join this standing upand the ones who stood without sweet companywill sing and singback into the mountains andif necessaryeven under the sea:we are the ones we have been waiting for.”

“Suddenly, I was stopped by a quiet song . .Somebody stood, swaying slowly on the road,In the darkest shadow by a puddle,And low above it a small tree grew . .It might’ve been a wild cherry tree . .He kept singing, watching the puddle fill . .I dragged the pine through the water,And with my other hand steadied my sack,Where a bottle of red vino dangled . .He didn’t move, but kept on singing . .Should I have stopped thereAnd joined his singing? . .Had he foundThe one happy tree? . .No one knows where it grows—Or what it looks like . .And who is allowed to recognize it? . .I never stood under it,Even to wait for rain to passOr watch between the dropsThe silent froth appear . .Swaying, he kept on singing . .Otherwise, he would have fallenAnd the rain stopped . .He danced his own rainUnder that tree . .I can’t do such things . .Perhaps it was a wolf? . .”

“at last no one decided And no one knocked And no one jumped upAnd no one opened And there stood no one And no one entered And no one said: welcomeAnd no one answered: at last”

“we are the ones we have been waiting for”

“We are the ones we have been waiting for.”

“We are the ones we have been waiting for.”