A duck sat by a river looking at its reflection

A duck sat by a river looking at its reflection
Wondering, where will I go? What do I do?
When I die one day will anyone remember me?
Will I catch a bite tomorrow? Will the nice ladies from down the block come in their bright sundresses and feed me stale bread crumbs while gossiping about other women?
Why am I a mallard?
Why can't I have been a beautiful swan, elegant and to be envied, instead?
Why must I make such hoarse, pathetic sounds?
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Putting aside all that, why can't I have been born a male duck instead?
With their striking green plumage, the purple glitter on their wings, and their mustard yellow beaks?
Why must I be a little brown critter? I look like a sad mop!
Where will I be five years from now? Ten?
Will I have ducklings, or will I be long digested in a fox's stomach by then?
What rivers will I swim in, and which ones will I never have the chance to visit?
On what day will I swim my final swim?
So many things going through the poor duck's mind
But to the fox, she was hapless and stagnant- an easy meal
To the other ducks, she was kin
And to everyone else in the world she was a duck sitting by the river looking at its reflection

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