Rumours of Ducklings

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…

Hiding treasure?

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

At home,

in your care.