The subject of this tragic ballad's
Arthur, the glossiest of mallards.
The ducks who lived around the lake,
conceded he was ‘Alpha Drake’.
One autumn, Art became obsessed.
The cause? The speckled, female breast,
belonging to a plump young bird.
A racy minx, so ran the word.
Arthur had spied her paddling by,
then, on the bank, a feathered thigh,
as she performed a thorough preen..
He thought . . . but no, let’s keep this clean.
Sadly, their pairing proved ill-fated.
Art’s love was not reciprocated.
He got red- hot, but she did not..
They lost the plot and both got shot.
But still in death, ironically,
Art did achieve his fantasy.
Out with a bang, birds of a feather,
who ended in the sack together.
