THE PLUCKY DUCK

Along the banks of a raging river,
In its placid bays and indentations,
A family of mallards bobbed and grazed
In peaceful habitation.

The little ones were almost grown,
Fluffy chicks no more.
They had not yet learned how to fly
But were still driven to explore.

One was a drake named Jake,
The wild child of the brood.
He had swagger in his waddle
And a daring attitude.

Jake looked out on the river
And a challenge came to mind.
He would swim across the water
To see what he could find.

His mother warned that such a deed
Would be dangerous and brutal.
The rapids, rocks and current’s speed
Would make the effort futile.

But Jake would not listen, and he set out on his mission
To cross the river and explore the other side.
But soon enough it hit him, as the current pulled and tugged him,
That he was heading for a topsy turvey ride.

His webbed feet churned the water
As he fought the ceaseless tide
But he just kept moving downstream
No closer to the other side.

Ricocheting off the rocks, he turned the river bend,
And saw that he was closer than he had ever been,
To the other side and safety,
To his wild adventure’s end.

Jake paddled extra fast
And soon enough he landed;
Like a shipwrecked sailor, safe at last
But all alone and stranded

As hard as he had paddled and the rapids he had battled
Left him totally exhausted and absolutely rattled

As nighttime fell he found a roost
On driftwood by the shore
And fell asleep with dreams about
The place he lived before.

Jake woke up a different duck,
humble and contrite.
Now he wished that he had listened
to his mother’s words of wisdom
Now he knew his mother’s words were right.

Jake wanted to go home,
But not the way he came
The river still was hostile
And the rapids still unchanged

Frustration filled the flustered duck,
He flapped his wings in anger.
And then to his surprise
He felt himself grow lighter.

How strange, he thought
And flapped again, a steady faster beat
And before he realized it
There was air beneath his feet.

He could fly, he could fly,
He could soar above the trees,
He could dart across the sky,
He could glide upon the breeze,
He could fly.

Over the rushing water he flew,
Above the turbulence and danger,
Back to the peaceful bay he knew,
Where he was not a stranger.

He flew to the flock he left behind,
To his mallard friends and kin.
With hugs and quacks they welcomed him back,
He was happy to see them again.

But Jake’s mother did a feather fluff
And approached him in an angry huff
And scolded him up one side, down the other.
Jake knew he had it coming,
That he deserved the drumming,
For causing grief and worry for his mother.

Then she stretched her loving wings out wide
And pulled that rascal Jake inside.
“You’re a plucky duck, my son, and a lucky one I’d say:”
Then Jake got the biggest and the best hug of the day.

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