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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