(brot) The Keeper of Sheep (Fernando Pessoa)
I never kept sheep,
But it is as I did watch over them.
My soul is like a shepherd,
Knows the wind and the sun,
And goes hand in hand with the Seasons
To follow and to listen.
All peace of Nature without people
Comes to sit by my side.
But I remain sad like a sunset
As our imagining shows it,
When a chill falls at the side of the valley
And you feel night has come in
Like a butterfly through a window.
But my sadness is calm
Because it is natural and right
And is what there should be in the soul
When it is thinking it exists
And the hands are picking flowers without noticing
At a jangle of sheep-bells
Beyond the bend of the road,
My thoughts are contented.
Only, I am sorry I know they are contented,
Because, if I did not know it,
Instead of being contented and sad,
They would be cheerful and contented.
To think is uncomfortable like walking in the rain
When the wind is rising and it looks like raining more.
I have no ambitions or wants.
To be a poet is not ambition of mine.
It is way of staying alone.