In late summer your family disrupted the roads
Brought traffic to a standstill,
Mother and children blocked the way.
Bright plumage instead of banners,
Quack quacked in protest at our
Intrusion into your domain.
The road so often used by man
Belonged to you and your feathered friends
An artificial tributary crosses ancient ways
Masks the waters of life.
Ritually return each year,
The valiant pilgrimage
Fraught with danger.
Streets away another roadblock
Threatens to tear society apart
Yours however has more soul.
A mothers duty to
Protect her young,
She guides them safely
On the path through reeds, weeds
And broken lives.
The current generation forgets the old waterways
Yet I remember,
Sailing paper boats on the tributary of years
That you called home.