Three Cornish ducks,
all called Bob
fishing for their supper:
Proper Job!
Three Cornish ducks,
all called Bob
fishing for their supper:
Proper Job!
Don’t worry about a duck,
Cause every little duck gonna be all right.
Singin: don’t worry about a duck,
Cause every little duck gonna be all right!
Rise up this mornin,
Smiled with the risin sun,
Three little ducks
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin, (this is my message to you-ou-ou:)
Singin: don’t worry bout a duck,
Cause every little duck gonna be all right.
Singin: don’t worry (dont worry) bout a duck,
Cause every little duck gonna be all right!
Rise up this mornin,
Smiled with the risin sun,
Three little ducks
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin, this is my message to you-ou-ou:
Singin: don’t worry about a duck, worry about a duck, oh!
Every little duck gonna be all right. don’t worry!
Singin: don’t worry about a duck – I won’t worry!
Cause every little duck gonna be all right.
Singin: don’t worry about a duck,
Cause every little duck gonna be all right – I won’t worry!
Singin: don’t worry about a duck,
Cause every little duck gonna be all right.
Singin: don’t worry about a duck, oh no!
Cause every little duck gonna be all right!
Well, when I say full…
My life is in flux;
I’m wearing a tux
in a field full of ducks
that look like cows.
Poem 22 – 21:00 16-05-2017
There is a catch.
There is ‘always’ a catch.
And the catch is…?
Twenty-Two.
Two little ducks
One for sorrow
One for joy
One is a girl
One is a boy
But, are we talking magpies here?
“What?” I hear you say
“Talking magpies! Is your mind running away
With you at the helm
The ship will run aground
Did you ever lose those lost marbles
That you dropped on the ground
When you were younger
Than you are today?
Who’s to say
You were made that way?”
I looked around…
Again.
There was no one there
To speak but a word
To utter these lies
(Well maybe one third)
And silence returned
When I asked ‘Who is there?’
There was nobody watching,
No one to care
No one to lend a hand
Or even to stare;
Just me and my writing,
And that’s how it was
When I deliberated
Over twenty-two
And my mind it went wandering
It does that, because
It’s not tethered down
And slips off to town
When it should be kept
Tuned to the task ahead
And my literary volume
Output turnéd down.
Oh, I’ve waffled on again;
And let loose the thoughts
Within my brain…
For which I hereby apologise.
And declare that 66% of the above, at least,
Is truth…
Or lies.