The belonely shepherd

A-toils to sleep

Distressing the blessing

Of herding the sheep

The lone pris’ner freed, with

No time for to pamper.

Glazed eyes on the shadows,

Sheeps’ mouths run and scamper.

They carton on aimless,

Can’t think but themselves,

Their faces unchangeless,

Though he ring the bells.

Maybe one day

They’ll escape to the sun

But the belonely shepherd’s

Not even shorn one.