The Odd Duck's Prized Waddle

The odd
duck
spun a cocoon wrap of
armor against pellets
hitting with odd duckling
taunts, but there's dent making
pins waking her hurt.
She digs and they laugh
hit her
strange waddles

But she
digs
out a robust gift of
talent, all hers, spurring
her to ascend blooming,
shocking the blind stunted
group's pride as she rose.
They tried but could not
rub her
prized waddle.

by Dorothy Randle Clinton

Other poems of DOROTHY RANDLE CLINTON (2)

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