Muscovy Duck Dance

I finally discovered the identity of the ducks I saw dancing and throat singing last week. They are Muscovy.  You can't really hear the male's thoat hissing well in these two videos below, but you can see their fascinating habit of head bobbing.

I'm including a couple of duck poems, one funny, one serious. Enjoy Poetry Friday. Amy hosts the roundup is at the Poem Farm.

The Duck
Ogden Nash

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond
Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups.



THE WILD DUCK
John Masefield

Twilight. Red in the West.
Dimness. A glow on the wood.
The teams plod home to rest.
The wild duck come to glean.
O souls not understood,
What a wild cry in the pool;
What things have the farm ducks seen
That they cry so--huddle and cry?
Only the soul that goes.
Eager. Eager. Flying.
Over the globe of the moon,
Over the wood that glows.
Wings linked. Necks a-strain,
A rush and a wild crying.

A cry of the long pain
In the reeds of a steel lagoon,
In a land that no man knows.