It is night and the tents are pegged into sand
We have taken leave of a couple with a babe in arms
I stand by the horse hobbled to the stake and stroke her mane.
They press on toward Egypt, and I stare
When they appeared, they joined us with relief
Little was said, and little asked
It is the custom to be discreet, but hospitality is generous
Those who care for me knew not who they were.
I stand by the horse haltered to the line.
It is the gift and the burden of mankind.
We are free, and we are unaware.
It is said of the horse that God made her of the wind
For she flies over the sands
Men say of her that Kings ride upon her back
Yes, this mare was made to carry a king
She laid down at the feet of his mother
But now they have disappeared into the sands of Egypt
And the Father of the wind erases their tracks
And we stare after
Little Child, I will look after you all my days.
The mare recognized your hand
It was the hand that scooped us out of the wind and it was plain to me
She has no such freedom as does mankind
For men may think as they like, and do as they please
It is their gift and their burden.
How is it with you, then, is this freedom your treasure? Or your beast?
Hidden safely, and revealed plainly, the Child is among us, apprehended or not.
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