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2006-10-28 | |
Neither quick-silver clouds
to mar the horizon,
nor giggly toddlers
hiding from their nannies
to disturb this peaceful hour.
Just the peak of a lovely day
for a few harried workers
basking in the warm, comforting glow
of autumn sunshine,
away from life's never-ending
emerald coif and ritzy tail,
a mallard drifts into the picture,
leisurely trawling the pond
for whatever delicacies
ducks nibble at lunchtime.
A glorious, artist-moving sight:
paper, brushes, pencils, cameras
slide from pockets, jump out of bags,
seeking to immortalize
such a fleeting display of grace.
So, here I am, fountain pen in hand,
poised for a memorable wave
of poetic inspiration... And yet,
the only words that come to mind are
duck Ã l'orange.
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