Listen; there is no violin
But the same clarinet is there
As in a klezmer song
Ecstatic, miserable, screaming;
But for history's accidents
The tango might have been ours
When other folk heard it
They would think of passion
As they do now, to be sure,
But also of rabbis. "The Lvoviner Rav,"
We'd read, "was a pious man and wise
And when he tangoed furious angels
Put aside for a moment their wrath."