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BENEATH THE BRIDGE
Beneath a bridge, by the Muddy River,
a duck’s at rest on a bank of snow,
on its back, its beak tucked in,
sleeping though this winter’s woe.
I stood on Olmsted’s bridle pathway:
serene in death, it lay in state
on a satin bier under an archway
to mark one mallard’s mournful fate.
Staring down I tried to picture
its struggle from the ice-locked river
in search of refuge for the night,
so cold…alone. I felt a shiver.
March 2, 2015