The Tragedy Poem by Lone Dog

The tattered mist hangs heavily
Along the margin of the bay,
As shafts of sunlight pierce the haze
While heralding the warmth of day.

And on a brush pile near the shore,
In shallow bowl of down-lined grass,
Ten, open, vacant, green-hued eggs
Reveal birth's struggles that are past.

The echo of a loon's lone cry
From distant haunts awakes the morn,
And stirs those hidden 'mongst the reeds -
The baby ducklings newly born.

And now, emerging from the reeds,
A mallard, mirrored in the glass,
Glides effortlessly into view
By lily pads and haunts of bass.

And following in close parade,
Ten yellow fluffs of sheer delight,
Protected by their mother proud,
With reflex quick, eyes keen of sight.

They move in silence quickly taught,
Absorbing all their mentor's ways,
For death comes swift to careless youth,
Avoiding not predacious gaze.

They revel in the joys of life.
They flutter, bob and skid and pop.
With jerking tail and flailing legs
They run along the water's top.

A quack of scolding reprimand
Alarms a youngster strayed too far,
When mother senses danger lurks
Beyond a golden graveled bar.

Two shadows move amongst the reeds.
Suddenly, a shotgun blast!
Ten little ducklings flee in fear,
All panic-stricken and aghast.

On red-stained lake, in silence, floats
Their mother in a lifeless mass.
Ten little orphans huddle close
As two brash youths in rowboat laugh.