To you, every bird’s a duck
You hold my hand, we wander
Scatter feathers with our feet.
The orchard still is green, but leaves
Are turning one by one.
The air is cold
And full of sounds of change
Ducks moving with the fall
And we are moving too.
Two ducks stand lichgate solemn on their long thin legs
Waiting for the movement of the water.
Staring at the surface of my heart, I’m watching too
Waiting games are what the ducks are born for
Waiting games are what I’m playing with your heart.