A poem by Sandor:

The shepherd rides in donkey-back, 
His feet are dangling wide, 
The lad is big, but bigger still 
His bitterness inside.

He played his flute, he grazed his flock 
Upon a grassy hill 
When he was told his sweetheart girl 
Was desperately ill.

He rides his donkey in a flash 
And races to her bed, 
But by the time he reached the house 
His precious one was dead.

The lad was bitter, hoped to die, 
But what he did instead: 
He took a stick and struck a blow 
Upon the donkey's head.

I’d say the fellow had a keen grasp of human nature for such a young man.