How evil is this place? No magic? What kind of rule is that!? No Bag? Now you’re being cruel. …How many goats is that? Quill puts one against my chest It yawns and goes to sleep I take three steps into the yard And hear a hundred little feet A spotted nose, a crooked hop They’re gathering at my knees I’d like to lodge a formal complaint Oh. Look at those tiny ears. Too many goats, too many goats They’re lining up to eat I feed three, I count four There’s six around my feet No magic, no Bag Just hay and my best guess How did something this adorable Make such a total mess? Hm… there it is again. That feeling… somehow familiar Hey! My coat is not a climbing wall! The brown one wants my lavender bow The white one wants my sleeve The smallest curls against my hand And now I cannot leave I count them, then they trade their places I count them all once more One knocks the pail, one licks my glove Who let these three indoors? There. That presence again. Whoever—or whatever—that is— No, no, the hay goes in your mouth! Too many goats, too many goats They’re lining up to eat I feed three, I count four There’s six around my feet No magic, no Bag Just hay and my best guess How did something this adorable Make such a total mess? Whatever’s out there can wait. I’ve lost count again.
