Somewhere someone traveling furiously toward you,
at incredible speed, traveling day and night,
through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents
, saves narrow passages.
But he know where to find you, recognize you when you
see,
give you what you have for yourself?
Little grows here, but the barns
bursting with food
food bags piled to the enclosures.
The stream flows gently, feeding the fish;
dark birds in the sky. Is it enough
the dish of milk is set at night,
to think about him sometimes,
at times and always with mixed feelings?
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