The Farmer

I watched the farmer rank his crop.
Quickly he lined them up to see the most fit.
He walked from each to each and stopped
When he saw his horse and acknowledged it.

He placed a ribbon around its neck
Which tinted as blue as as the summer sky.
Then once again began to inspect
His next preferred stock queued in the line.

Second was the pig and third the cow.
Fourth was the dog and fifth its companion.
I sat there wandering why and how
Had he not yet chose me, without affection.

Sixth was the chicken, ignorant as any
And seventh place went to his wife.
Yet I, the goat, still stood there with many
Others who felt as if stabbed with a knife.

Eventually I was awarded the coveted spot of eight.
And solemnly walked back to my pasture,
Because at that moment I knew of my true fate-
That never again would the farmer be my master.