The Rime of the Hungry Goat

The goat espied on distant hills
A green field fed by glist'ning rills.
Despite a gale, despite the cold,
"I'll go!" declared our hero bold.

As blacker grew the dark'ning vale
Our hero's courage did not fail;
He sprang from stone to slipp'ry stone
Regardless of each threatened bone;

His heels flew high into the sky;
The river, no less fast, rushed by.

But then, as eventide drew near
A little hint of horrid fear
Attacked our goatish hero brave
And made his hairy mien more grave.

A badger snarled and snapped its jaws
And claws peeped forth from all four paws,
And hobbling over roots and sticks
Our goat was in a nasty fix.

And now that fearful demon, sleep,
Encouraged him to homewards creep.

His hooves felt heavy, leaden, weak;
His beady goatish eyes were bleak.
He gasped and panted, coughed and cried:
"My beard! but I am sorely tried."

At last he stumbled through a gate
Which twice he butted with his pate.
There was one hill, and one more fount,
And then he reached the verdant mount.

O lofty goat! O lovely beast!
Our hero had a glorious feast.


Written November 2003

(Disclaimer: I think that I may have unintentionally borrowed phrases, etc., from preexisting books or poems.)