I'm not the writer to this poem

When I went to Portugal many years back there was this poem that sits under a rock.. It was beautiful I was transfixed on it.. 
I went to this poem and rock everyday that I was there.. just to read books and play with my toys I was about 10 
I know this poem is what made me want to write.. Might sound odd to some but it really did.. So here it is 
Again it is not written by me But it is about nature and all it's beauty



Ao Viandante
Tu que passas e ergues para mim o teu braço,
Antes que me faças mal. Olha me bem.
Eu sou o calor do teu lar nas noites frias de inverno
Eu sou a sombra amiga que tu encontras
Quando caminhas sob o sol de agosto
E os meus frutos são a frescura apetitosa
Que te sacia a sede nos caminhos.
Eu sou a trave amiga da tua casa, a tábua da tua mesa,
A cama em que descansas e o lenho do teu barco
Eu sou o cabo da tua enxada a porta da tua morada,
A madeira do teu berço e do teu próprio caixão
Eu sou o pão da bondade e a flor da beleza
Tue que passas, olha-me bem e não faças mal

Veiga Simões, Arganil, Maio de 1914
Veiga Simões was a brilliant Portuguese politician, diplomat, writer and journalist.

To the person who passes through this place

You that pass and raise your arm to me
before you hurt me, look at me well.
I am the heat of your home in the cold winter nights.
I am the friendly shade that you find
when walking under the august sun
And my fruits are appetizing freshness
That satisfy your thirst on the way.
I am the friendly beam of your house, the board of your table
the bed in which you rest and the wood of your boat.
I am handle of your hoe, the door of your dwelling
the wood of your  cradle and of your own coffin.
I am the bread of goodness and the flower of beauty.
You that pass, look at me well and do no harm.

Unknown author