Next year we’ll sit on the balcony
And count flocking birds.
Children on vacation
Will play catch between the houses and the fields

You’ll yet see, you’ll yet see
How good it will be
Next, next year.

Red grapes will ripen by evening
And will be served chilled at the table.
And dormant winds will carry to the highway
Old newspapers and cloud.

You’ll yet see, you’ll yet see

Next year we’ll spread our palms
To the white dripping light
A white heron will spread its wings in the light
The sun shining in them.

You’ll yet see, you’ll yet see