My warrior ranges
without me;
moves herself onward,
before my messages arrive.
Dauntless, magnificent,
but the wounds of warriors
are never washed away
and, in time, magnify.
Dreaming, I hurry
to catch her on her way,
but often I am lagging
and her wild signs grow faint.
Still, there are the days
I come upon her;
briefly tend her wounds
and share a bit of pain.
When next she’s off again,
it will be so very long
before I can say once more
rest here, let me love you now.
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