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A Date With Ducks

Here comes a mom duck a crackling,
All her flock close by following—
All of the chicks seventeen
That makes alive wetland scene.

In fresh-water swamps comb ducks breed,
Togetherness their sole creed
Till they disperse in wet season,
So scorching when gets the sun.

Reaching up to a huge hundred,
O Knob-billed ducks, appears your deed
That has no leader to lead,
A serpentine tail there’s, nor head.

To us men, a few things ye teach—
Sticking to no chairs as if leech,
You’re no proud frogs, nor cocky cocks,
You have leaders that foster flocks.

Ye haply feed on swampy green,
Or else on sturdy water weeds,
On smaller fish and sundry seeds,
Peace and order seems your scene.

I admire how your life you lead,
Glad with your girth, shorn still of greed—
Yea, to see any of you lean
Be rare as your tinge, blue with green.

Who can call you ugly duckling?
And beauty there's in white and black,
Just one thing you perhaps still lack—
The way you sing— a coarse crackling.

With feathers black and body white,
And hints of dark blue tinged with green,
A speckled neck, greyish, yet bright,
Your claws I’m sure should peace-prize win—

Webbed, for hunt nor for fight are made,
Nor your beak an aggression shows,
Nor is there any war-like red,
Nor hunting, harming a duck knows.

As mom you seem considerate,
And care-worn, eggs to incubate,
Ye raise chicks all by you alone,
A dozen and more all your own!
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Comb duck, or knob-billed duck an unusual pan-tropical bird is found in tropical wetlands of sub-Saharan Africa, Madagascar, South Asia from far of Pakistan through India to Laos and extreme South China. Everywhere, these so-called ugly ducklings have a beauty of their own.

Nature | 08.08.11 |

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