Apathy | Comfort | Compromise | Discipleship | Discipline | Poetry | Success

TAME DUCKS
There are three tame ducks in our back yard, Dabbling in mud and trying hard To get their share, and maybe more, Of the overflowing barnyard store, Satisfied with the task they’re at, Of eating and sleeping and getting fat. But whenever the free wild ducks go by In a long line streaming down the sky, They cock a quizzical, puzzled eye, And flap their wings and try to fly. I think my soul is a tame old duck, Dabbling around in barnyard muck, Fat and lazy with useless wings. But sometimes when the North wind sings And the wild ones hurtle overhead, It remembers something lost and dead, And cocks a wary, bewildered eye, And makes a feeble attempt to fly. It’s fairly content with the state it’s in, But it isn’t the duck it might have been. Kenneth Kaufman