The Wildy Ones

 The sheep are in the silver wood,
 The cows are in the broom;
The goats are in the wild mountain
 And won't be home by noon.

My mother sang that olden tune
 Most every night,
And to her newest she would croon
 By candle light;
While cuddling in the velvet gloom
 I'd dream of cows
That sought each dawn 'mid golden broom
 To gently browse.

Or I would glimpse the silver wood,
 The birchen glade,
Where pearly sheep in quiet mood
 Cropped unafraid;
But how I loved in lapsing drowse
 The mountain wild!
The goats were more than sheep and cows
 To one wee child.

For cows and sheep are shelter-wise,
 And love the lea;
While goats have starlight in their eyes,
 In cragland free . . .
And now on edge of endless sleep
 Wryly I note
How less I'm kin to kine and sheep
 Than rebel goat!

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