‘The Stoat and the Old Goat’: a Children’s Tale by Jeff Eardley

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The Stoat and the Old Goat

This tale concerns a little stoat,
With eyes of black and velvet coat,
Who frolicked in the virgin snow,
Above the village down below.

This little chap, so short and lean,
He liked to keep his burrow clean,
Whilst watching with his beady eyes,
For buzzards circling in the sky.

Now ‘twas a fine and sunny day,
When stoats they like to sport and play,
And to the broomy hillside came,
A grizzly goat with shaggy mane.

This goat he had a stubby beard,
Which stretched across from ear to ear,
With slitty eyes and sallow stare,
He watched the Stoat cavorting there.

As clever as a goat can be,
His hobby was photography,
He pulled a camera from his coat,
To take a picture of the Stoat.

But little stoats, we rarely spy,
Are known for being camera shy.
So to his hole the Stoat did run,
And waited till the Goat was gone.

But goats are patient so they say,
And this one was resigned to stay.
He picked a cool and grassy spot,
His camera poised to take the shot.

And so the Summer fluttered by
As skylarks twittered in the sky.
The Stoat avoiding making noise,
The Goat above with finger poised.

As Winter came upon the hill,
It brought a cold and frosty chill.
The Stoat was getting in the mood,
For going out in search of food.

He poked his head above his lair,
To see the Goat still sitting there,
As past his hooves he tried to creep,
The Goat appeared to be asleep.

But goats are very, very sly;
He opened up his slitty eye.
“My wait up here has been worthwhile.
I have you now my friend,” he smiled.

“Oh Stoat, oh Stoat, oh little Stoat,
I know that to my friends I’ll gloat,
When I display your photograph,
Which surely now will make them laugh”

But as he pressed the shutter down,
Upon his face there came a frown.
“Oh, damn and blast” the Goat complained,
“My camera power has been drained.”

And so, he had to scurry down,
And headed for the nearest town,
A mile or so beyond the trees,
To purchase extra batteries.

Which left the happy little Stoat,
With eyes of jet and ermine throat,
To frolic in the virgin snow,
Above the village down below.

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Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.