Betty the Goat

Betty the goat (3)

Betty, the neighbor’s goat died. I just found out.

She was  the one I looked for, trailing behind the herd as they rushed to eat our compost.

Bow legged  and slow,

I’d call out ,” Hi Betty”

As wide as she was high with  heart shaped lips, oh my!

Betty was my mother’s name.

She taught me the pleasure of words, passionately reading a  poem

Giving it all she had  as if  someone’s life depended on it.

My mother wore a  corral colored lipstick, “for courage.” she once said.

I wish I could remember the name of that color…..

“Wildly wonderful  You”  perhaps.

As my daughter says, “This is not a dress rehearsal”




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