Ducks on a mission

Fine evenings mean I can stay out in the garden till late. Towards sunset the ducks come waddling past to remind me their bedtime snack is due.

Geoffrey Dearmer wrote a poem about ducks in April. Unlike his fellow WW1 poets who cemented their fame by losing their lives in the carnage he survived to the age of 103, only dying in 1996. His brother, a pilot, was killed in 1915 and his mother died the same year while serving with an ambulance unit in Serbia.

April

Now April has come,
The country grows sweet here,
The chiff-chaff and wheatear,
Behold, from the land of ripe oranges come!
And cherry and plum,
With white blossom gleaming,
The hillsides are seaming.
Too long have been dumb
The woods and the wold
With buttercups blest,
The lark builds her nest
In green and in gold.
There’s cover for all birds,
For large birds and small birds,
Where furled leaved unfold.
She comes like a bride
In front of the tide
Of emerald mist.
No keen weather stays her;
No bird disobeys her;
No bud can resist.

A touch of her wand -
The buds rise to meet her,
And birds’ eyes all greet her -
Why even the garrulous ducks on the pond
See signs of her wand!
As if the Magician
Sent ducks on a mission
With news from Beyond,
With tidings which they
Through natural art
Feel bound to impart!
But April and May
Themselves are their voices,
And no bird rejoices
Superbly as they.
They come like a bride
In front of the tide
Of emerald mist.
No keen weather stays them;
No bird disobeys them;
No bud can resist.