A short poem inspired by the goats of Fuerteventura, Canary Islands, Spain.
After spending the night camping on a hillside of Fuerteventura the goats bleating by were an unexpected surprise. As they woke me in the morning and I peered out of the tent it was obvious that this intrusion on their land was very unexpected.
As the goats stopped in their tracks and took a moment to think about what to do, the male goats quickly led the females and kids away. A little further to one side they continued their journey down the hillside, jumping and bleating once again, this strange obstruction forgotten.
It is said that there are more goats than people on the island.
Their habits became familiar whilst spending time hiking and camping and some days were spent only with the goats as my path did not cross with other people.
Goat Life
The sun is rising
The goats are descending
Skipping down the hillside
Bleat, Bleat, Bleat
The families stick together
Crossing the terrain
One of them is missing
The bleating starts again
The days are long and hot
Time to play and eat, they've got
Who are these trekking their path?
Bleat, Bleat, Bleat
The sun has started falling
They ramble up the mountain
Sleeping until the morning
When the bleating starts again
