There once was a lobsterman Gene
His talent for wood art was keen
When not on the sea, he carved pieces of tree
And one time he whittled a duck
There once was a duck made of wood
The maker was known to be good
He gave gifts where he could, warm intent understood
And he gave this bird to a friend
There once was a friend in the town
On her shelf stayed a duck colored brown
It was not taken down, but this guest came around
And the duck was a gift once again
There now is a duck in my care
With no feathers it seems kind of bare
But the smoothed chiseled squares, speak of craftsmanship fair
It appears as if soft to the touch
Then Gene and my friend passed away
Yet my thoughts of their friendliness stay
Who else got such gifts? Likely many I’d say
Gifts that speak when the givers are gone
So I must be one who gives, too
What’s my wooden pal’s next task to do
I will find someone special, duck-special, that’s who
One who cares, one who shares, is a friend
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