The Duck

The sun, it is rising,
And with any luck,
It’s egg-laying time
In the day for this duck.

But it brings me no pleasure,
I have to confess.
Egg-laying is stressful
When it’s under duress.

You lurk here each day
With that glint in your eye.
There must be an egg
Or you’ll want to know why.

You say that I owe you
For your buckets of scrap.
And Lord how you whinge
When you step in the

Mud that I live in.
I’m perched in this muck.
I try to produce eggs,
But you don’t give a

Thought to my feelings.
Not one little bit.
Just whinge if my egg is
All covered in

Duck down and straw
And bits of dry grass.
Your egg eating needs
Really stretch out my

Tolerance. Your threats
Don’t have me bluffed.
So you and that axe can
Just go and get

Marinated chicken
From down at the shop.
All cleaned and pre-packaged
And ready to

Pop in the oven. Oh, I’ve done it!
Please don’t run amok.
A lovely fresh egg,
From your own backyard duck.

"No hour of life is lost that is spent in the saddle" Winston Churchill