I saw you late morning when
We’d almost given up the search.
Yesterday’s crumbs were re-forming into bread
In my disappointed pockets,
But your shadow-soft-wing spread
that little too far…
The river wouldn’t tell.
We waited, caught by your stillness until
A promising quiver saw the smallest
First-day-beak peak out
Into the early Autumn air.
A brief dare, and then – BACK-
Your protective wing whispering promises
Of tomorrows to all those precious ducklings
in your care.