A fat duck sits on the fence
Hindquarters engulf a narrow metal bar
Tail feathers criss-crossed, forest green and surprising white
The odd head-bulb, quiet, sharply cocked

How does she do that,
Wonders a bare-leafed winter tree
The thickly covered silver green carpet
Waits to be crushed

Ice-tipped mud oozing and stiff
As lowly quackers trample and hope
Hopping, stepping, opening
Wings to embrace a winter morning