Fowl Ending

Fowl Ending

As the sun slices the morning mist
Above the reeds and grassy blades
Fly nobly ducks of mallard green
Within, without the glades.

What is there, a double take
Other ducks swim on the lake.
Let’s go near and see these friends
And on a layer of air descends
Come swooping low, they’re only wood
The shaking reeds, this isn’t good.
So near the blind, in fits and bends,
And BAM–
          The poem ends.