The sheep were in the pen, sheltered for the night
we then sat around the log fire to chat till we fall asleep,
under the open sky ,in a clearing on a wintry night.
Contrary to what I gathered, he was full of life,
there weren't any lines of worry, nor his face woebegone.
The heardsman looked cheery, humming tunes he loved aloud
which the pesky mountain wind, snatched and spread too soon.
I quiz him about his treks to find pastures for the herd,
"Isn't it a task tiring , in the rough mountain terrain?"
"It's not me who leads the hungry herd to the pastures" he says
"As it is made the world to believe by those never had seen a pasture
The sheep know where the grass in green, and find the shortest path,
as pleasing them is my only wish , I dutifully follow their lead."
Who leads and who is being led-a question to ponder
