High on their rocks, the mountain goats

Wear white, protective woollen coats.

     They contemplate the world below

     Whilst trampling through their alpine snow.


Upon their heads they all wear horns,

But these, do more than just adorn:

     Far more than being a great sight,

     They’re grievous weapons in a fight.


These lithe, sure-footed, mountain beasts

On grasses, herbs and lichen feast,

    But a lofty life high on a peak

    Might seem to humans rather bleak.


The golden eagles circle round,

And nanny goats, upon the ground

    Must carefully guard their kids at play

    From these keen-sighted birds of prey.


From pinnacles and peaks on high -

Far up into the clear, blue sky -

    The mountain goats and bighorn sheep,

     Like sentinels their watch they keep.      


The mountain ranges are their home

Where they find peace to freely roam.

    But for myself - I shouldn’t gloat -

    I’m thankful not to be a goat.


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