Puddle Duck's Pen

I never took much notice

of how the wealthy fare.

They're never in my focus,

So, why then should I care?

It dawned on me, that's how they see

my people, and me too.

And is that all that we two share,

Or do they do more that I do?

So I watched myself and took some notes,

Then compared the actions to a king.

I saw us both loving art, culture, and to sing.

But for the reasons that I love them,

Surely this king cannot relate!

Why then does he hold parades,

And offer prizes to create?

It took me time to see his crimes

came after his concern.

He would pillage the years harvest,

Spurning a village to be fed-

And sure, praise any brave artist

that paints banquets from their head-

But just to stand upon a stage,

Before a crowd with tired hands-

And sing out with the loudest voice-

"You have all made me so proud!"

Every time I have a fire,

I find the perfect stick.

It can reach to poke

from no matter where I sit.

And stoke the kindred ruin

once the fire is lit.

And every time I wait

til the very last minute-

to throw it on the embers,

and let it finally quit.