Sweet silence of a Sunday morn,
The world of weekday chaos shorn,
Not even the honking of a horn
As traffic idled,
Held back by the arms of the Law,
Impelled to wait, with tempers raw,
Stewing in the sun's hot maw,
And as I stood outside a shop,
Wondering why the world had stopped,
Out of the stillness came a "flop",
A sound so faint.
Repeated with a steady beat,
Approaching from the small side street,
Till into view, with flapping feet -
A sight so quaint -
Emerged a plodding mother duck,
Welded to her scrambling pack,
Never once e'en glancing back
To take a tally!
(Which baby duck would ever fail
To follow close on mother's tail
When upon the pilgrim trail,
Or dare to dally?)
A Moses on full purpose bent,
No glance to right or left she lent
As straight across the road she went,
To lead her brood
Down into the flowing stream,
Where ducks may swim and ducks may dream,
Safe from the ire and hissing steam
Of traffic queued.
And did she realize her luck
On reaching the promised land, Ma Duck?
That out of danger she'd been plucked,
By humans saved?
For some observant soul in sight
Had soon foreseen approaching plight
And brought the police upon the site
To part the waves!