We all were crushed when our goat Brandy died.
But we don't think she went to some green caprine pasture in the sky.
(A fantasy that only humans enjoy!)
Instead we tried to come as close to it on earth as we all could provide,
With grassy meadows by the stream
And coral berries and honeysuckle on the hill,
South facing dusty wallows and rock ledges in the summer shade,
To say nothing of our most gentle milking hands.
And so it must have been in some remote time and in some far land,
When her great goaty ancestor was first tamed,
That perhaps someone said
"This one is friendlier than all the rest;
Let's keep her for milk instead of meat."
And so they did, and every spring at kidding time
There prospered on the "Brandy line."