Shepherd and the War Lord

As a gentle wind caressed the hilltops with a sigh
There sat a shepherd on the promontory quite high
Watching with a careful eye over his scattered flocks
Grazing in the verdant land, in the vale and the rocks

Time was his servant, bending to his wish and will
Infinite as the sky above, dancing to his flute's thrill
He could manifest the peace that was within his soul
Stilling the tempest of heavens, and even thunder's roll

Love was manifest in his heart, and that spilled over anon
In his songs, his music, his flocks, and on nature upon
Rules and traditions didnt trammel his feelings of purity
He held himself high, in his seat, a being of great rarity

On the distant wind came the sound of galloping hooves
And soon there came over the horizon a leader of troops
A fierce apparition with his armour and his eyes of steel
And a reputation to make his foes shudder in fear and kneel

Coming from a tradition of great violence and battle glory
His ancestors were renowned by verse and by lengthy story
Waging war, they amassed wealth, from lands distant and near
And from sea to sea did stretch, their formidable empire

Anger was manifest in his heart and that spilled over quite
Into his actions, his battle cries, and showed his might
That bound his soul together in fetters of bloodied ore
His heart knew no respite, and gave vent to rage filled roars

As he passed the hillock where the shepherd plied his craft
The Warlock paused, and imperiously pointed his barbed shaft
And queried: "Whither thou knave, sitting with unbowed head
Before the brave warrior, legions of soliders who has led?"

Bending a steady gaze on the saddled form of the angry soldier
Replied the shepherd, with a voice devoid of rancor or badger
"I occupy the highest throne, and yet am devoid of an empire
With consummate ease, I herd my flocks, detached without desire"

Retorted the general: "Where are the bards that sing your praise?
Does the world know you, and monuments in your name do they raise?"
The gentle soul replied: " I am unknown to the world at large.
But I am still content, by the virtue of the duties I discharge

External conquests do not last, based as they are on sorrow
By setting sun they are won, and do not survive till morrow
Sheath your blade, vain warrior, and seek the bliss of peace
As the bones bleach into dust, perchance soul's turmoil shall cease.

The chastised general reined in, and dismounted from his stallion
Doffing his bloodied helmet, slipped from his neck a gory medallion
Seeking the feet of the kind shepherd, whose grace exuded from rock
The Gladiator, repented, and swore to be eternally of his flock.