The goatpen is silent.
It could be because of the rain
its residents have taken shelter inside,
It could be because two are gone
the black one’s son and the lonely mother.
Whatever the reason only two remain,
the others sold off, now living in a new home
along with the two long-gone little kids.
The carefree summer I remember is gone,
there are no more games of headbutt and tag,
and I must leave my parents
like these two remaining goats.
I am grieving, but I have no tears,
the rain shall be my tears
with its constant falling.
The goatpen rests under a heavy,
somber cloak of silence
and it is still raining.