The Highland Shepherd Poem by Alexander Raju

Once I saw a highland shepherd travel,
Hill to hill and vale to valley,
Sleeping sometimes in some hovel,
With his precious lovely sheep in rally.

He never cared its hot day or cold night,
Or lowland or highland in height,
Celebrated his sheep's twins birth,
But mourning at a white ram's sudden death.

While his flocks of sheep eat the grass,
He would watch them and just sit still,
Feeling the heavenly hours that pass
And leaving his stress to the hill.

He sits for a while under the cool shade
And plays carefully on his flute,
Perhaps, a shepherdess for him is made
And her heart throbbed, fingers yearned for her lute.

The music spread and stopped the song of skylarks,
The green plants forced their leaves shiver,
The jungle dogs wound up their barks,
And the giggling stream ceased its flow forever.

The music stopped the sheep from graze,
The wolves forgot to catch their prey,
And at the shepherd's face they gaze
While cranes stood on one leg and pray.

Soon he hears the song of the nightingale,
Guides his sheep to the shed to sleep,
Sees the red blossoms fade in gale,
And goes to bed to hide his face and weep.