Reckless Spirit

The valley was peaceful as sunlight descended,
As the liquid fire retreated behind mountains.
The forests showed dances of suffocating nightfall,
As the day disappeared, as shadows were wedded.

The shepherds returned home, the animals followed,
The sheep with their sweet lambs, the goats with their goatlings,
They entered the sheepfold as darkness came closer,
At home and in safety. Wolves started to howl.

Up there, in the mountains, they came out, they gathered,
Their cold, yellow eyes—so glassy, so famished—
Like death shone in darkness, evil and awaiting
Naive little beings to venture in the mountains.

Back home in the valley, where warmth and hay waited,
The fold was their shelter and all that they wanted.
Or was it? Unequalled? For one of them wanted
The grass in the mountains; the hay’s taste it hated.

She wanted the green grass, so fresh, full of colour;
The dry, tasteless hay which lay there—unappealing.
She longed for the freedom she had in the mountains,
Up there with the blue sky, the sun and the crickets.

Young, reckless, determined, the goat then decided
To leave all the others, the warmth and the shelter.
She wanted to run wild, away from the others,
And under the night stars, with the tempting path—lighted.

In vain tried the others to warn her: “The howling!
Can you not hear all the wolves that are out there?
Stay here, oh, young child! And wait for the sunrise!
The shepherds will come when it’s time, so be patient!”

“The taste of the green grass is, oh, so, so tempting!”
Responded the young goat, ignoring their wise words.
“I’ve made up my mind and I’m leaving this instant,
The wind and the freedom are calling me quickly.”

She jumped out her stable and ran towards the stall door,
She jumped yet again and then kicked down a batten.
The shepherds came quickly, hearing the loud noise,
But she was long gone, no matter how much they would call her.

She never looked back as she ran towards the forest,
The thrill of it all hiding the approaching cold, death glims.
She bleated, enjoying those moments of freedom
And suddenly came to a halt—she was breathless.

A pair of cold eyes was there lurking, just waiting
For her to get closer, to meet with the sharp teeth.
She suddenly knew she would never reach the grazing,
And now it was too late to run to the sheepfold.

She’d die in the forest—she knew what was coming.
The green grass she dreamt of would never be tasted.
But stubborn she was, so she swore she’d at least try
To fight him all night, till she’d see her last sunrise.

She lowered her head as the wolf then approached her,
Defending herself with her horns as he howled.
She was brave and determined, resisting his sharp claws,
His teeth and his cold stare—so dangerous, cruel.

She fought and she fought and at times she would quickly
Eat blades of the grass which they trampled on, wanting
Only one more ounce of strength—to keep fighting,
To last till the sunlight would trump over darkness.

Each time he got closer, his teeth leaving deep wounds,
Her cries would grow weaker, her spirit collapsing.
But she then fought harder—“It isn’t yet morning,”
She’d say to herself and then gather her lost strength.

Till finally sunlight appeared from the mountains.
“At last!” whispered she as she fell to the cold ground,
As the wolf towered over her defeated small body,
Howling in victory; his eyes—no more daunting.

And as the light from her eyes started dimming forever,
She looked at the sky, as her last hope appeared:
The sun, sending spears, rose high above darkness,
Bathing her being in triumphant, strong sunbeams…

– Patricia