Songs Of The Earth Poem by ashok jadhav

At dawn the shepherd leads his flock
Across the hills with quiet care;
The bells chime soft, the mist drifts low,
And morning rests upon the air.
The ploughman bends where soil is dark,
His hands are cracked, his back is worn;
Yet in each furrow, hope takes root,
And greets the sun of every morn.
The goats climb high on rocky slopes,
The cows graze slow in shaded glen;
Each life moves on in measured ways,
In tune with earth, not clamor of men.
The village hums with whispered tales,
Of harvest shared and storms endured;
The songs rise up like smoke and wind,
In voices humble, hearts assured.
The night descends with stars and chill,
The shepherd rests beside his fire;
The ploughman counts the day's small gains,
And dreams are simple, yet entire.
No gold nor crowns could buy their peace,
No riches match the quiet song;
For in the lives of peasants, shepherds,
The world moves right, though slow and strong.