A baby goat's a pretty thing

One look's enough to make hearts sing

To cuddle, even to embrace —

That inter-species face-to-face

Feels sweet . . . as long as kids are small

But soon and crudely comes the Fall

Goatish sex comes, hard and quick

And gender matters — goatfolk pick

The females, softly yielding milk

And some with coats as fine as silk

More manageable natures too

And though the does may crave a screw

Or caper off, or chew through stuff

With milk/meat/wool they give — enough

To warrant sanctioned love . . . and life

But boy-kids, no — they're born to strife

The stinking maleness soon to come

Means snuggle time is nearly done

Before it starts — options darkly crude, and few

For managed goats outside a zoo

The buckling's owner may decide

That testicles, when tightly tied

With rubber bands to stop blood flow,

Will wither, die, and thus the foe

Of vile and stenchful maleness can

Be vanquished, and the billy ban

Be lifted for an eunuch goat

With sweeter smell and sleeker coat

A wether, quiet, safe to house

With no rut instincts left to rouse

Not dripping with the pungent piss

That calls up lust in goatish miss

And caprine mom — that horridness

Does bring the milk, but . . . such a mess!

***

Thanks v much for taking the time, hope it's not too distressing — part 3 follows.