As Angels To My Eyes
'Twas a pleasant morning,
As I ambled through the park.
I heard a little songbird,
It may have been a lark.
But then again, it may have not,
For birds are not my thing.
Whatever little bird it was,
How sweetly it could sing.
Then I saw a vision,
As angels to my eyes,
Swans came a-gliding,
From cloudless cobalt skies.
Indignant ducks they scattered,
Protesting in their quacking.
As swans landed with the grace,
That ducks are sadly lacking.
Soon though peace returned,
As I ambled through the park.
I heard a little songbird,
It may have been a lark...
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