Trotting through the dusk on that deserted country lane,
a sight I'd never seen before - nor never will again,
as if by magic there suddenly appeared
a host of hairy goats, unusual and weird.
The big orange leader inspected his troops,
made them form lines, sorted them in groups,
marched up and down like a sergeant at roll-call
I'd swear on my life he inspected them all.
A fat multi-coloured chap with horns that curled round.
A scrawny old bill with a beard down to the ground.
A milk laden nanny, two kids close behind
bickering and snickering (they had an axe to grind).
Elegant twins with hooves painted pink
and roses twined around their ears (at least that's what I think).
They came in their fives and they came in their tens,
they stretched so far along the road, I couldn't see the end.
So where were they headed, this brightly coloured throng?
Straight past me and towards the pub that I'd just staggered from.