All tired and jaded
and thirsty lot
down the hillock
a goatherd shot
to a tortuous rill,
from cup of hands
he drank Adam's Ale
Tracing his trails
all the bleaters
reached to him,
filling the bladders
they stood in rim
as a sole tender
he checked heads
and awed to miss
a kid that was red
He raced up back
to the grassy land
where gladly grazed
his beasts' band
He swept looks
all over the region
and not the kid but
void met his vision
he called out aloud
to the poor little thing
and heard down in vales
his own words ring
Consumed with guilt
he slowly lingered back
his conscience gave
him many a whack.
when on the retreat
a monk crossed his way,
the goatherd asked him
if he eyed his kid anyway.
The holy man smiled
and said 'absolutely!
there on the slope facing
a fox, it stood mutely.'
why you saved not
my poor helpless animal
O Apostle of mercy,
said the boy in grumble
The killer or the killed
are equal in my sight
I profess this principle
that sounds ever right
posing himself Mahatma
the monk said in high pride
O boy! don't suspect me
I am philsopher and guide
Oh no! Not siding the kid
obliquely, you sided the fox
I think you and your philosophy
is nothing but a garbage box?
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem