Lives in a timber hut-
He lives with his old spouse;
Love linking them has faded really.
He goes out in the early sunshine
With his flock of sheep
And the woman expects
To gather fruits from nearest vine.
The man rest his body on a boulder,
Loosening his bind over
His sheep to let them graze;
Solitude cloaks his frail shoulder.
He sings in his Soul:
“Let my mind flow
Let my mind fly
Let it unbind the irons
Let it soar high,
Let it soar high.
Look, the butterfly
It’s hurrying by
Look the colours
Its wings holding thy
Look, it’s flying by!”
The time passes by ending the day;
The sky has lost its glow,
The shepherd is old once again
Losing his euphoric halo.
Old man stepping down groove
With his home-sick battalion,
Tiny light from his distant hut
Perhaps, his only existence proof-
The door of his cottage is wide open!
Old Sam curses his careless lady,
But no slang does he get in return!
Is she sleeping? There lies her body…