Mallard Puddles
I watch the raindrops splash upon my feet,
Upon my emerald boots at which I stare.
I watch the puddles fall out of the air
And claim their places upon the concrete.
The raindrops sing ‘Drip drop drip drop,’ repeat;
My feet begin to dance, a perfect pair.
I wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’
Should I, no child, splash my way down this street?
Then I recall the playful mallard duck
Plunging fast as though it spotted some bread,
Resurfacing to shake its head and splash;
And this is not a duckling but a duck
So I dare to go where the mallard treads:
I soak my boots in water in a flash.
