Yes, go on, quack at me,
Laugh in the way of ducks,
You know what I'm feeling don't you,
And yet you choose to mock,
Like the Anas that you are.
Of course, it is possible,
That I am merely projecting,
My own darkened feelings,
Onto an innocent duck,
Anthropomorphising his response,
And berating him,
For his lack of duck compassion.
But this is nonsense,
For ducks, whilst noted for their manners,
(Or lack of them),
Know nothing of my troubles,
Or my mood,
But still, it makes me feel better,
To scold a stupid duck,
And I thank the humble Mallard,
For being the unflinching receptacle,
For my mock anger,
That helps to iron out,
The ripples of my mind.
