Classic Poem

Old Mother Duck has hatched a brood
Of ducklings, small and callow;
Their little wings are short, their down
Is mottled, grey and yellow.

There is a quiet little stream
That runs into the moat,
Where tall green sedges spread their leaves,
And water-lilies float.

Close by the margin of the brook
The old duck made her nest,
Of straw, and leaves, and withered grass,
And down from her own breast.

And there she sat for four long weeks,
In rainy days and fine,
Until the ducklings all came out —
Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.

One peeped out from beneath her wing,
One scrambled on her back;
" That's very rude, " said Old Dame Duck,
" Get off! quack, quack, quack, quack! "