The herder

The wind puffs into hills and across the dale, Dusty, and thrashing lashes with a gusty gale. As the herder stoops holding his club in hand, He watched the eagle in pique as it landed. The two crows were circling overhead in a sway With their hungry eyes fixed on eagle’s prey. Soon, the eagle was grappling with all its might, But the final was hunger turning to a bitter spite, As it straddles soaring saddened into the sky, So the herder amazed told his kid with a sigh Racks of our lives are very nearly to the wild, Where cats roars and prowls hog-wild, And monkeys swinging through trees, tall and thick. As waterfalls splashes loud, cascading fluid thick, A call which is heard by birds winging above, And creatures which scurries slow and rough, Jungle is possibly of beauty to humans instead, A feeling solely defined from sight as they lead The elite strolling in wonder and delight, The wild unrelentingly fight, so is our plight. Copyright 2023