Beneath the tranquil sky, the shepherd roams,
Through verdant fields and rolling hills so wide,
His heart, a vessel of unspoken tomes,
In nature’s grace, his sorrows do abide.

The sheep, they graze, unburdened by his plight,
Their innocence, a balm to weary mind,
Yet in the stillness of the fading light,
The shepherd’s tears to evening mist consigned.

He sings a song of love and loss profound,
Each note a whisper on the summer breeze,
His voice, a haunting echo, soft yet sound,
That mingles with the rustling of the trees.

And as the stars emerge, a silent choir,
The shepherd dreams of days that might have been,
In every twinkling light, a flick of fire,
A hope that through the night, his heart might mend.