“Thank you kindly,” the grimey donkey man said,
“I can no longer eat carrots, and soon I will be dead.”
“Have you have no zeal no need to be emote?
“Hush my dear donkey man, gnaw on this here goat.”
The donkey man wept and wept for there was no cure,
just a sad look at the ocean, and a glass of milk to calm his fear.
He sprang from his chair, awake at last, was it only a dream?
He felt his face for fur, but it wasn’t there. The donkey is within.
He walked outside, along the street by the moat.
To his surprise he found but lonely city goat.
“My name is James,” the goat said, its mouth full of cheese,
“Have a slice of brie, and put yourself at ease.”
“I am still dreaming?”
“How would I know? Though you are quite gleaming.”
“Don’t you play me for a fiddle.”
“No, I won’t, but you must solve this riddle:
My feet stay warm, but my head is cold.
No one can move me, I'm just too old.”
The man thought, and thought for some time,
he pondered the question, the answer to this rhyme.
At last, the answer came to him suddenly,
“A mountain” he said, smiling with glee.
“Correct!” the goat shouted, exploding in a puff,
Leaving behind a thought and a pile of pink fluff.