At evening watches the duck
slow feeding the waterline.
Praises the duck. Such a fine
white miracle breasting the mayfly.
Green of her tail feathers,
space of her neck doubled in water
paddles off with my mind.
Ducks I have known.
Old duck mates of mine
inspecting the meeting of air and liquid.
Make no mistake, duck.
I'd like to eat you well cooked
one bell-battered Sunday in April.
And I'd wear your gorgeous feathers in my hat,
make a soup of the bones
and give your leftovers to the cat.
Duck At Haldon Ponds
Ken Smith
(1)
Poem topics: cat, green, space, water, evening, white, mistake, mind, miracle, liquid, gorgeous, sunday, slow, april, I love you, I miss you, april fools, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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