The Ugly Duckling

Fluffy, small, and gray, he waddled from his egg,

Curious to see it all, never thinking yet to beg.

Beg to be accepted, beg to be included,

His new young life, would see him soon excluded.

--

A big black beak, and two small ungainly feet,

The little bird not loved, soon cried a lonely tweet.

He waddled all alone, to sit beneath a tree,

Hoping teasing words, would leave and let him be.

--

Days soon slowly passed, followed then by weeks.

And still he sat depressed, as ‘friends’ called him a freak.

His little feet had grown, and he now stood straight and tall.

His young voice had matured, into a deeper simple call.

--

Bit still he sat alone, away from ugly stares,

Not caring for their snide remarks, or their hateful glares.

One day his beak changed colour, to a crimson red,

And dull gray fluff turned white, feathered as a bed.

--

Slowly, ever slowly, other ducks came to his tree,

Admiring the beauty, that he turned out to be.

But still he was so lonely, false friends the only sight,

And as he sat he waited, waited for the night.

--

The night had never led him, to believe he had to ask,

Ask for its affections, without his face a mask.

And so he sat through praise, praise for his nice face,

For he knew deep down that he, was easy to replace.