The sheep are in the silver wood, <br /> The cows are in the broom; <br />The goats are in the wild mountain <br /> And won't be home by noon. <br /> <br />My mother sang that olden tune <br /> Most every night, <br />And to her newest she would croon <br /> By candle light; <br />While cuddling in the velvet gloom <br /> I'd dream of cows <br />That sought each dawn 'mid golden broom <br /> To gently browse. <br /> <br />Or I would glimpse the silver wood, <br /> The birchen glade, <br />Where pearly sheep in quiet mood <br /> Cropped unafraid; <br />But how I loved in lapsing drowse <br /> The mountain wild! <br />The goats were more than sheep and cows <br /> To one wee child. <br /> <br />For cows and sheep are shelter-wise, <br /> And love the lea; <br />While goats have starlight in their eyes, <br /> In cragland free . . . <br />And now on edge of endless sleep <br /> Wryly I note <br />How less I'm kin to kine and sheep <br /> Than rebel goat!<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wildy-ones/
