The goat man had always felt it unfair,
That he must clutch his bare chest in cold air.
The only thing worse was to look a fool
By wearing some dumb animal's wool.
He despised all humans, their sickly lust,
Their clothes and their suspicious trust of trust.
One winter's day he met a traveler,
Plump and well-clothed but for her sandled shins.
He decided to play the caviller,
And ridicule weakly man's meager sins.
The girl blew on her fingers in reply,
Then offered the satyr a steaming stew.
When she breathed on his bowl, he asked her, "Why?"
"To heat! To cool!" she cried, her lips the clue.
