Living, a shepherd's life,

Long long ago
There lived a shepherd
Just at the foot
Of the hill,
He had no worries
Or cares,
All he knew
That he would have to
Wake up and take
The sheep for grazing,
And his life had no other meaning,
He would do what every shepherd should,
And at the end of the day
When the shadow of the hills
Would be dancing down the slope,
He would return to his humble cottage,

There he would tend the flock,
And after having a meagre meal,
He would sit at the cottage door,
And watch the night sky,
Full of twinkling stars,
He would count them,
One, two, three, four, five, six...
Till sleep would come all over him,

The nimble soothing air
He would take to sleep,
Only to wake up the next day...

He had no aspirations,
All he believed was in living in peace,
And the square meal he had,
He thanked the lord for that,

Sometimes, early in the morn
When he would go out
He would watch the trees,
They looked sleepy and quiet,

The quietitude would then
Seep into him,
He would feel
That he had got merged
With the silence of the place,
Everything he felt
He got within him,
The distant murmur of the stream,
The calls of unknown birds and animals,
All he thought he got
As a part of his existence,

Thus living,
The shepherd boy
Almost became a part
Of the setting,
So much so
That he oneday realised
He had no wish other than living.

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