Golden Puffballs
A poem about finding joy in the mundane
Published in
Sep 18, 2022
I was counting my woes a yellow afternoon,
when a brood of golden ducks passed me by.
Each little quack — duelling the sheer silence,
seeped through a lonesome casket I occupied.
I coveted the seemingly blithesome regime -
waddling away to keep up with their brood,
a scamper and a totter — a beak in the muck,
dabbling away — in a pond, puddle and pool.
I was tickled pink by those downy waterfowl,
peaks of innocence-their sight filled a void.
Hatching up plans to delight the onlookers -
quacking away — golden puffballs of pure joy!
