It is spring and the fire in their feathers is back
and each head is erect with its crest;
they approach one another with Ca-ca-ca cac!
for it's time to start building the nest.
They dive deep, led by beaks sharp as scissors through weeds,
paddling up to the surface to stand,
with their bright-white breasts brushing, their eyes ruby beads
and their toes trailing Lower Lake sand.
Now they're ready to waltz on the water at last
and they fan their fine flames with Wuh-reee!
Shaking flounces of foliage, they rise-and-fall fast
to their rhythming, grunting with glee.
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