My Tattered Fleece

I was reared amid the highlands
as a disheveled mountain goat
a fearless kid—briskly leaping
upon backs of harsh boulders
intrepid yet shy in all my ascents
on life’s sheerest and daunting
rummage of cruel ruddy saber
escarpments of grappling claw
crumbled in my grit of adventure
fearless on each pinnacle of dread
I challenged every taunting apex
even if frozen in ragtag cloaks
of white patinas of snowfield—
my face remained fixed on the sun

but now—in my ragged old shell
squeaking strides of worn joints
howl below ancient winds of time
I ache upon fading wildflowers
of life once absorbed in thin airs
weakened by my porous bones
or lungs that screech out pants in
darkened skies of lonely vacuum
I rest in softer verdant meadows
shadowed from the rages of sun
on my callous wounds of pewter
gravity ages my tender hooves
as each precipice constricts me
in tattered cloaks of alabaster fur