Getting your goat

The other day I was telling a friend about finding a gang of goats in our garden and she (Jem a.k.a. Janet Baker) made it into this poem:

He had moved to an old house that was bedded down,

Sitting in a valley, out of sight of any town.

He lovingly created a garden of delight

But it was desecrated, all eaten over night

As down from the mountains came the hordes of goats

And all his blooming blossoms went down their greedy throats.

Every pea and bean and each cabbage eaten too

Just like a plague of locusts were those goats, passing through.

He shouted, cursed and pleaded, all to no avail

The behaviour of those goats was just beyond the pale.

If he could just afford it, a goat proof fence he’d build

But he didn’t have the money and with gloom was filled.

Then suddenly the answer came, lightning from the blue  

He turned to his computer; he knew just what to do.

Using all his writing skills he worked hard all night

And luckily a magazine said it was just right.

From that goaty story he made the cash he needed

He bought a fence and so at stopping goats succeeded.

His garden blooms, his veggies now, are his joy and pride

Goats stare through the fence and drool but cannot get inside.

In the wigwam of sweet peas and beans