When I recall Free Synagogue
What rises up in front of me
Is not its Ark with the Decalogue
But a big old horse-chestnut tree.
And long walks I took to and from
A Hebrew school I used to make,
And classes that were yet to come
Before the recess with its break.
But how about to read and write
Our holy Hebrew Alphabet
Whose wholly unforgettable sight
Is carved in stone inviolate?
Yet somehow it’s a game we played
With shiny nuts just fallen down,
Under an old horse-chestnut shade,
And nuts a richly reddish brown.
memory
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