Goat Poem by Sheena Blackhall
Goat
A Pan-horned goat
Lifts up the weird
Triangle of his face.
His neat packed teeth
An octave of tiny notes beneath
The elegant curving slits of his wet nose.
His beard's a puff
Of thinly curling smoke;
His arcane eyes are eloquent as Satan,
Mournful as King Lear.
It seems he's been rooted to this place
A thousand years;
His neck fur is a Spanish grandee's ruff.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 7:27:31 AM # 1.0.0.1119
