Visiting the Ducks | Poetry

A body of water
and a family of ducks,
it is home to them
what for us
is momentary exile.

A body of water
and a family of ducks,
I wait for them to swim
as they first fill themselves up;
two are caged,
three roam free.

A body of water
and a family of ducks.


I wasn’t very keen on visiting the ducks. I pass them quite often, but as they say in popular culture, there was a gust of wind and I was drawn. What was waiting did not confine to a body of water and a family of ducks, a poem was hiding near by. Visiting the ducks. 

In the photo above, you can see three ducks having perhaps their evening meal which mostly seemed like bread. 

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