Sunday, April 5, 2009

A Gang Of Goats from Gore

Okay, so the other day I was talking to my mate about her hometown of Gore (in the South Island of New Zealand)....and then the goats came to visit in a moment of inspiration.... (for those of you outside NZ a "Morepork" is a native New Zealand owl)

The wild goats of Gore
A small gang of four
Rose early at noon
And fought for the spoon

Six eggs they would scramble
And garnish with bramble
Being clean out of bread
They ate the table instead

With nowhere to play cards
They ran out to the yard
To chase bumblebees
And chew down large trees

And come half past four
There was a knock at the door
The knock made it fall
Because they'd eaten the wall

And there stood a guy
With a glint in his eye
The goats struck a frown
Twas the butcher from town!

Renowned for goat pies
He yelled "Run for your lives!!"
Without packing suitcases
Or farewell embraces
And having no wheels
They took to their heels
There was no dilly-dally
As they ran for the valley
Eighty miles east of town
They laid themselves down

They kicked off their shoes
For a much needed snooze

And in the valley that night
As the Morepork took flight
A small gang of four
Vowed to stay out of Gore.

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