The Willow, the Ducks and the Goose

There was a small pond in a tiny green glade

Where no homes stood about, where no families played;

Just some ducks and a goose, some fish, birds and more

And a graceful young willow that stretched cross the shore…

That goose was the loudest and largest one there

And it claimed all the water, and claimed all the air;

The ducks did their best to be goose-like and loud

As they followed their leader, tails held high and proud.

Below and above them, fish swam and birds flew

Sweet lilies bloomed open as dawn’s haze withdrew

But none of this mattered to the ducks and the goose

All they saw was each other, the rest were of no use.

They cackled and squawked with great spirit and passion

Convinced their performance embodied high fashion

As the goose bestowed each with a minus or plus,

There were winners and losers, and “thems” against “us”…

Watching all of the pageantry, pathos and din

The willow tree longed for a chance to join in;

But it’s wind-caressed voice, more a song hummed than quacked

Couldn’t make up in beauty the volume it lacked.

Now and then, a duck sorrowed would flee from the scene

To find comfort and peace in soft curtains of green;

The warm willow embraced it, and made it feel whole

Rebuilding its confidence, soothing its soul

Until strengthened and healed, the duck went on its way

In full voice and mettle, rejoining the fray,

Leaving willow behind, softly sweeping the shore,

Proud of its service, but still wishing for more…

One day came a woman, an artist by trade,

And she set up her easel at one end of the glade.

Peering across the small pond with a sharp and trained eye

She framed in the willow, and began with a sigh.

The ducks and the goose took quick note of the brush

And, sure they were needed, they came in a rush

But the woman ran at them, waving “shoo, shoo!!

I’ve come to paint beauty, and you’re blocking the view!”

The goose and the ducks were aghast at the thought

That they weren’t the beauty this artist had sought…

So they turned to their strength and let loose a great squawk

But the woman cried out “Now I can’t hear the tree talk!”

“I love best the melody made by the breeze

As it rustles the willow… now quiet if you please!”

Confused and confronted, the gaggle took flight

To the end of the pond to consider their plight.

The artist, now happy in sight and in sound

Painted hour by hour the image she’d found

While the willow sang gently in a voice all her own

Full with the caring and loving it always had shown

And as they watched in amazement the tree that they knew

But had taken for granted, to shore the ducks flew…

They rustled their feathers, they shook their down free

As they tried, one by one, to be just like the tree.