Ducks by Frank-W-Harvey
I’ve always liked this poem. In our family when things got tough, one of us would often end a conversation with ‘From troubles of the world I turn to ducks’. Even if you don’t really care for poetry you might like this one.
Beautiful comical things
Sleeping or curled
Their heads beneath white wings
By water cool,
Beneath the pool,
To eat in various mucks
Tails uppermost, or waddling
Sailor-like on the shores
Of ponds, or paddling
– Left! Right! – with fan like feet
Each bird a boat
Rippling at will the sweet
When night is fallen you creep
Upstairs, but drakes and dillies
Fearful too much to sleep
Since they’ve no locks
To click against the teeth
Whence hungry rats and lean
Would stealthily suck
New life, but for the mien
The hold ferocious mien
Of the mother-duck.
He turned His mind from big things to fashion little ones;
Beautiful tiny things (like daisies) He made, and then
He made the comical ones in case the minds of men
Should stiffen and become
Dull, humourless and glum,
And so forgetful of their Maker be
As to take even themselves – quite seriously.
Caterpillars and cats are lively and excellent puns:
All God’s jokes are good – even the practical ones!
And as for the duck, I think God must have smiled a bit
Seeing those bright eyes blink on the day He fashioned it.
And he’s probably laughing still at the sound that came out of its bill!