Out in the country we reside,
where creatures still can be companions,
they share with us and we with them,
and all observe their code of ethics.

On Sunday morn, I rode my bike
to get the bulky Weekend Paper,
when at the creek a family
of Mallard ducks were on their way

to Mallard Services on Sunday,
dark-feathered duck with cleric collar
presides from up on knotty branch
of fragrant Eucalyptus majesty.

The last dirt road they had to cross
their Mallard bibles clutched with pride
was rather busy on that day.
A shiny, big and ugly brute

with four-wheel-drive and 14 lights
was now approaching, at fair speed
just at the moment when Big Mal
and all his children waddled there.

It was enough to make him glow
with fires of Adrenalin,
he knew his role was to protect
the wife and precious family.

So he attacked, with speed and skill,
just like a kamakazi fighter,
and broke his neck against the grill,
thus saved the day for all with pride.

Yet, he was dead, a fallen hero,
they'd pray for him, God would be kind.
And High Priest Mallard said his words
about the loss and who he was

When they went home in time for lunch
one of the elders led the way.
He had not come to see them safely,
across the road, no he had seen

the beauty in her twinkling eye
and they went on, while chatting lightly
then hand in hand, down by the creek,
at lunch Old Mal had been forgotten

and all her feathers had been ruffled,
by new, exciting acts of love.
She told the kids 'this your father
the other one is with the Father..'

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mallard-loyalty/