Everyday, every hour, through sun and rain,
But a duck would sit on eggs so few and small,
She can not find their father, nor do they know,
But still every moment the need arises, she comes.
With warmth and love despite all hardship faced,
No amount of shelter can take her from young away,
Nor memory of the times she flew the first to spring,
And all the silent tears bored diluted in meagre hope;
The eggs shall hatch one day, and this day shall come.
Hours will pass, like the shadow of cars nearby fade,
Into nothing somehow; they just keep coming and going,
It was all gone, and then no one knew who drove them,
Not even a smile, and not even a mention of this bird,
Though, she wouldn’t care, she cared solely for young.
Like, drops of water that fell, they have no purpose,
To fall and their previous drops slowly sink in water.

One day, they hatched and it was all still rain and wind,
Beneath all the grim and chill, the day envied warmth,
So soon she feeds with all she has, what braved a day,
It seemed nothing and everything fell from dread’s decay,
Like roses from the sunken soil in cool respite to bring
This subtle joy into those who gaze, and so they did.
She knew one day they’ll have to fly, and they too shall.
By which time, she shall move on to a path where they fly,
Now soon they will fly, and swim, and walk, and quack,
Their first words would drum her heart like drugs and wine,
And then life wouldn’t seem so bad after all, it was there;
All she ever wanted was always there, she simply had to plant
The hatchlings in the warmth and love she can spare from all,
So soon, once she passes into the next life, joined by her known,
She can at least observe from afar these birds for who they are.

Category:
Nature, Poetry, Works
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