In fields where gentle breezes sway,
The shepherd tends his flock with care,
Beneath the sky so vast and gray,
His heart and soul find solace there.

With crook in hand, he walks alone,
Yet solitude is sweetly blessed,
Among the hills, his spirit’s home,
In nature’s arms, he finds his rest.

The lambs that frolic at his feet,
Their innocence a pure delight,
In every bleat, a joy so sweet,
That bathes the day in golden light.

And as the twilight starts to fall,
With stars that twinkle from above,
The shepherd hears the night’s soft call,
And whispers back his song of love.