Sunrise the herder sits on a craggy rock <br />Leaning on his bramble crooked stick <br />He seemed oblivious to the multitude <br />Suddenly a whistle from his parched lips <br />Ears cocked the herd moves on, chewing <br />as they move down the valley bells tinkle <br />along the dry trodden track to the lake <br />The midday sun beats down as they drink <br />Then through the clear still air the whistle <br />The tinkle of the bells soon fades away <br />As they climb hill after hill until the sunsets<br /><br />Douglas McClarty<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-goat-herder/
