What Gets My Goat

For several years I've been a raftsman every summer, ferrying herds and noisy folks across this gray river who shout and argue about this body of water. The goat-like shepherd bleats out loud wisecracking puns that you can never cross the river more than once, it changes every moment, every swirl and flow, it may look the same, but its waters come and go, you float or swim in it, but whatever you do, this river's not the one you crossed a while ago ! The sheep-like goatherd retorts in a screaming leap, says that's a shallow view, he's got something deep, if river is the water that drenches your knees, a hundred rivers can swish by you in a sneeze even when you pause for just a minute or two, you're not the one crossing, rivers are crossing you ! As long as their banter won't make my raft keel over, and they pay their fare like any decent passenger, I shall throw neither goat nor sheep into the river.