Vanity

"There is no harmony under this mahogany,
Cackling cacophony in the vicinity"
bickered an observing Duck.

"Ducklings that sink in water
as clear as my shiny feathers
Will swim best 'gainst the tide of the pond
And in the sesame oil of the Cook's pan.
Tadpoles that live as fast as they die
never know their mother
Yet guide themselves better in waters"

"Pooh! A duckling that can't swim!
What ominous box'll be opened next,
Ducklings that wish to soar aloft
Like the Skylark?"

The passing hands'd maimed past pains.
The complaining bird with feathers
as white as December snow
,too, was once a yellow mess.
The young nincompoop
,too, had longed to flap her wings
and explore the endless sky,
The pining fool climbed the nearest hedge
only to betray her dreams.

She, too, was a terrible swimmer;
the slowest of her siblings
Had Mother Duck missed to see her
in the twirling current,
her bickering
like her silvery feathers would've glided
in Eternity
Where dreams meet
and Pride ends.