When looking through the meadows and the mountains ranging high,
It's possible to dream of all good fantasies to try.
Of swimming through the lakes of unrequited melody,
And bringing hope to journeys that remain as yet to be.
Then off in the bright distance shines a tree that stands alone,
And on its glossy branches are some animals who roam.
In past always quite famous for the rocky cliffs they scale,
Or eating trash from garbage cans, their prejudice is frail.
Why goats would be in woodland arches begs a shocked applause,
For them the search for food defies all nature's patent laws.
Not just in trees will they prevail, for ridges steeped in fear,
Will magnetize their energies, exquisite mountaineer.
Perhaps they have the balance of a dancer placed en pointe,
But logic will assume that magic could not disappoint.
All creatures of mythology have attributes as such,
Abilities of sense, sensation, trickery and touch.
They manifest the triumph of all hearts that seek a goal,
Enriching patterned misery with brilliance to extol.
And as they waver softly in the world's enchanted breeze,
The magic of the world presents the gift of goats in trees.