Bluebell Poem by Geoffrey Fafard

Bluebell did nothing worse
Than eat vine leaves
And green Portuguese grass
She drank cool water
From the water mine
Under the shadowy hill
She would bleat at the dogs
And be timid and a little defensive
At the kinter her home
Bluebell was destined to walk
The peaceful upper pasture
Take in the view and be content
Ah the life of a mountain goat
Warm coat, cool personal bell
Big wondrous brown eyes
And almost a smile
They all loved Bluebell.

(poignant gap..)

Tonight we ate Bluebell
And at first I did not realise
It was who it was
In the West Indian goat curry
And although I did not
Personally know her
I am a little sad

(another poignant gap..)

And so maybe
That is why I write about her
Trying to ease my conscience
Just a kittle

(last poignant gap..)

Perhaps the vine leaf eating
Was, well a good thing
And Tim has indeed risen
In my esteem as a chef.