Along the river, by the woods, there lived a golden duck. And he would give you pleasant dreams, if you’d try your luck. But ducks can be a fickle bunch if treated out of whack. And if they think you’re acting rude they’re likely to attack. Yet if you come with hat in hand and whisper if you please, without a thought he’ll quickly bow to kiss you on your knees, and send you off to la-la land where you can catch a wink, to dream of sweet and sunny days, far better than you think. Of flying like a feather with your head above the clouds. Of diving deep beneath the sea to swim among the shrouds. But I’d be wrong if I didn’t tell you everything at first. In keeping any promises, gold ducks can be the worst. One minute up above the clouds, another swimming free, But suddenly you notice there’s a wobble in one knee. And then the other starts to go, and turns toward the back, And when you cry out to the duck, it comes out as a “quack!” Your fingers fuse, the space between your toes begins to fill. As feathers sprout upon your back, your mouth becomes a bill. You want to run but stumble to a waddle as you try. And now your biggest problem is you don’t know how to fly! You're stuck upon the ground or in the river digging food. You couldn’t eat a hot dog even if you’re in the mood. So think before you find yourself there, digging in the muck. You really need to ask “what dreams are pleasant to a duck?”
