Of course, some say it's not so bad

They're beasts, not sad as we are sad

Plus, bucks get closeness when they breed!

That short sex break when humans need

To 'freshen' an all-female herd

Get milk a-flowing — the 'freshen' word

So dainty, cleanly, and serene

Bit hard to know what it may mean

But more than milk — first, gravid does . . .

Each belly swells, a budding rose

Welcomed warm, a thing of beauty

Ending in a brand-new cutie

Or two, more often — and if two

Chances are, one's pink, one's blue

Since goat births trend to fifty/fifty

Male and female — girls, so nifty

Males essential, also loathsome

So, measured love, and then?. . . dumb

Hate or gelding, pain or death — all

Meant, by Nature, to . . . just appall?

Or, one more rune, a mystic sign

Of so-intelligent design?

Or, maybe, just the way things are

Like flame, or muck, or distant star.

Like fairytales, where maid may stray

In dread-dark woods, while brightest day

Glows on a Mother-Queen's demand

To be deemed fairest in the land

By tearing out that young girl's heart

It seems we all must play our part

Deliver measured love, no more

And make sure that we know the score . . .

It's just the way that our lives go

It's something that, deep down, we know

Our appetites must all be fed

At least, until it's time for bed?

***

Thanks for reading "Pretty Little Buckling" (despite the dire details).