She was giving up,
Losing the will,
My sick little white goat.
She'd been drenched and given electrolytes,
But still she lay down.
I picked her up and stood her on her feet,
And brought her feed close.
She ate but was weak.
I returned each half hour to find her down again.
It was disheartening and I was running out of ideas.
Then I saw her curly paddock mate,
The one we kept with her for company.
And I watched my sick goat bullied.
I understood.
In this cruel, hard world,
The weak are ground down by the strong.
Better for my nanny to fight her battle on her own terms,
Free at least from persecution.
Curly goat removed,
She now at least stands.
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