In the quiet fields where shadows dance,
A shepherd walks with gentle chance,
Among the hills where echoes sing,
He finds his peace in everything.

The morning dew upon the grass,
Reflects the sky like polished glass,
In simple joys his heart does rest,
For nature’s gift, he is blessed.

Beneath the oak, in whispered shade,
He dreams of tales the ancients made,
In Milton’s words, the shepherd sees,
A world of wonder and of ease.

As twilight falls and stars appear,
The shepherd’s path becomes more clear,
In solitude, his spirit roams,
Finding solace in nature’s tomes.