Quacking is a wonderful sound;
it says so much
in so little time.
I hear the echoes of joy
and transit defined
flights, landings, takeoffs,
following close behind.
It questions
lifting the bill,
warning
to avoid getting killed.
It says, here is food,
a sharing gesture;
for even when there not enough
of bread to go 'round,
the quacks will bring all ducks
calling friends in to town.
They babies they wait
silently listening
following mom
across river glistening
but they hear her and go
where order by quack
waiting for voices
to wield pre-attack.
Roman Ryan 