I step outside and look to my left,
And suddenly I see seven of the ducks,
All ‘ducked down low’ and sitting
On the slope, their heads all the same way.
‘Which one of you is the mother?’ I wonder,
‘Or is she even one among you?’
I’m struck by the fact that I couldn’t tell,
All seven sitting quietly looking the same,
Their heads all pointing the same way.
All I know is I’m worried ’bout the babies,
There were 8, then 6, then 5, and now 4.
And I haven’t seen any this morning.
So yeah, which one is the mother in mourning?
What’s a mourning duck look like?
Is she cemented in grief by 6 of her kin?
Siting up there on the sloping lawn,
Chastened by the night that brought this dawn,
Their beaks all pointing the same way.