Goats On The Run Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Goats on the run

All my sides are farmlands
Mostly corn, some grass
Trees few, strange.

The smoke in the air
The smell excellent
The wood burns
It is fresh, miracle.

I recall Nader Shah and his fights
His tactic at the time his army,
Few men
Location, on the heights
In waiting enemy

He ordered:
“Gather goats…rub fat and aflame horns.”

Scared goats sought escape
Ran downhill…
Toward the enemy.

The foe was on the run
He fooled them
Won the war.