They stood like bookend ducks, alone, aloof.
Between them, dusty tomes of scholarship
that filled their minds with what they thought was truth;
a desiccated life, emotion stripped.
Their views researched and backed by ancient books,
their lust for life, in time, was oxidised;
a patina concealed their brazen looks,
as love became a thing hypothesised.
But what if they were buffed to make them glow,
and inward turned so, beak to beak, they kissed?
Would then they know themselves? Would their love grow,
and could they then retrieve what they had missed?
Though books may teach us much, our heart's the crux;
there is a deal to learn from loving ducks!
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