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A mother duck sat on her eggs
     To keep them safe and warm.
In springtime, as you children know,
     We still get winter storms.

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The cold winds blew, the sun came out,
      The days passed one by one,
And then the rain came tumbling down,
      Soon followed by the sun.

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Poor mother duck!  She sat and sat
     For many lonely hours.
Then, with the warmth of coming spring,
   Out came the springtime flowers.

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As mother duck sat on her eggs
      In spring’s nice warming sun,
Her eggs hatched out, and babies came -
      Ten ducklings, one by one.

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How proud she was to see them all.
      She’d love them every one
And for many weeks she’d care for them,
      Until her job was done.
 
One duckling seemed a little odd -
     Well different from the rest -
And what did all the others do?
     Well surely you’ll have guessed.

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They laughed at him and called him names - 
      Names which were quite bad.
They said he was an ugly duck -
      And this made him so sad.

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The weeks flew by and up he grew,
      A most unhappy bird:
'An ugly duck, not loved at all!' - 
      Such sad and hurtful words.

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He soon left home and went away
     To where he could be free,
For listening to those spiteful words
      Was hard, you will agree. 

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He stood upon a river bank
     And saw some swans fly past;
Such lovely birds with outstretched necks, 
     Their beauty unsurpassed.

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'Such elegance and grace,' thought he,
      As they flew across the sky,
And the ugly duck felt very sad
     And gave a mighty sigh.

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He wandered down the river bank
     As unhappy as could be;
Then, reflected in the flowing stream,
      Well, just what did he see?
 
He saw exactly what he was:
      A duck?  Oh, no, no, no!
A gorgeous bird looked back at him
     With feathers white as snow.

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'I’m not an ugly duck at all!
     I’m a lovely swan!' he cried,
And a feeling of pure happiness
     Welled up from deep inside.

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The other swans came flying back
      And welcomed their new friend,
And here we’ll leave him, loved by all,
      For my poem’s at its end.

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Copyright on all my poems

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