was when I looked into the stream at Chalgrove
A mother duck was swimming along
Followed by a merry throng
Of eighteen ducks of varying sizes
Not all her own one surmises
Occasionally she'd stop, turn round and quack
As if to say "That's enough of that
Can't you see I've eight of my own
Stay away, find your own home".
The "extras" then stopped in their tracks
Leaving space and keeping back
Then they followed on regardless
Knowing that her quacks were harmless
This is what their life had become
Following their "foster mum".
By keeping up they'd found a way
Learned a lot from day to day
Now you may say but ducks are thick
But these had obviously found the trick
By watching her they'd live and thrive
And by the grace of God they'd stay alive
copyright (©) Gill DeVille April 2001