A measured love — awarded those

Who cannot please the owner's nose

Tiny kid, in loving arms

Protected from all worldly harms

The tender goatmaid smiling down

Her tousled ringlets, chestnut brown

Surround the soft-skinned infant goat

Caressing his pale velvet coat

And touching one sweet stubby horn

Mad cuteness of the freshly born

A charming selfie, sent by e-mail

These baby creatures just can't fail

To pierce the heart of all who see

(That trusting innocence is key)

Tell me the name, rapt viewer asks

(Not 'why are you not sporting masks?')

No name, the goatmaid's e-reply

Though beast names aren't in short supply

Within her pretty cottage spread

Bright bordered with neat flowerbed

Where each pet chicken, cat, and goat

Is christened with a name of note

Like Christabel, or Everclear

Because her creatures are held dear —

The selfie shows her tender care

Maternal love refulgent there

Enough to make a viewer cry

And yet, no name? the reason why

Comes briskly next . . . he "won't be staying"

Thus, "measured love," a debt for paying —

Her words, that's what she's offering

The measure that she's proffering

In the soft curve of her embrace

And in that look upon her face

E-mail goes on and makes things clearer

His yeanling twin is . . . somewhat dearer

Her name is Neve — she writes no more

Trusting that I'll know the score

Or find out via online source

What goatfolk take as mere "of course"

***

Thanks for taking a look — part 2 follows.