Lonely shepherd

The lonely shepherd, sitting on the mountain top, plays his flute
He sees around the meadows, across the hills, and remains glut.

Nobody understands, what is the meaning of his melancholic song
Nobody realizes, in his tiny life, what went wrong.

When he looks through the blue sky, he bestows his life
Everything passes in a whisper, like a rife.

With nimble sadness and sigh, he looks around
There is no sign of life nearby, only silences surround.

(I became emotional and cried a lot during writing this poem,
when I put myself in the position of the lonely shepherd.)