Lonely stars filled the cloudy night. Crickets chirped behind the rocks, but the lonely Shepherd stayed awake, watching the glittering starlight. He listened to the bleating of his sheep, singing lullaby songs. He sniffed the moist, mild air coming from the lake. He lies on his soft pillow of wool, wrapping his arms around his slim self, and drifts off into a sweet dream… to a place where the skies are blue, and the grasses are green, fine, and straight, adorned with flowers — red, pink, orange, and cream. The morning welcomes golden sunshine. The Shepherd prays, eats, and leaves his tent. Through the hole in the barn door, he tries to see outside, grinning at the sight of a sheep that was roused. Carefully and quickly, he descends into their midst, waking the weaker ones and nudging them lovingly. ‘Wake, wake,’ he calls out, and the sheep recognize his voice. Another day of feast has arrived. Jubilant, the sheep bleat and head toward the forest. He picks one of his lambs, his favorite, and whistles, sighs, and talks softly to the little lamb. Now, as the day ends, the Shepherd goes to rest.