Duck Squadron
He was a happy camper
Who enjoyed seeing the birds
His binoculars spotting
Many undisturbed
There from far away
He could see them float
Dipping their green heads
Unaware of his approach
Their calls could be heard
When closer there
With flotillas of the birds
In contact everywhere
And a squadron flew
Whistling as they went
Against the wind in blue
Skies for the event
The birds’ comings and goings
Spectacular in the fall
Like jets on their wings
They banked a bit and called