The Goat And I

 Each sunny day upon my way
 A goat I pass;
He has a beard of silver grey,
 A bell of brass.

And all the while I am in sight
 He seems to muse,
And stares at me with all his might
 And chews and chews.


Upon the hill so thymy sweet
 With joy of Spring,
He hails me with a tiny bleat
 Of welcoming.

Though half the globe is drenched with blood
 And cities flare,
Contentedly he chews the cud
 And does not care.


Oh gentle friend, I know not what
 Your age may be,
But of my years I'd give the lot
 Yet left to me,
To chew a thistle and not choke,
 But bright of eye
Gaze at the old world-weary bloke
 Who hobbles by.


Alas! though bards make verse sublime,
 And lines to quote,
It takes a fool like me to rhyme
 About a goat.

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