The Pond by Jane Taylor

A coloring page of ducks on a pond.

The Pond

THERE was a round pond, and a pretty pond too,
About it white daisies and violets grew,
And dark weeping willows, that stoop to the ground,
Dipped in their long branches, and shaded it round.

A party of ducks to this pond would repair,
To sport 'mid the green water-weeds that grew there:
Indeed the assembly would frequently meet,
To discuss their affairs, in this pleasant retreat.

Now, the subjects on which they were wont to converse,
I am sorry I cannot exactly rehearse;
For though I've oft listened in hopes of discerning,
I own 'tis a matter that baffles my learning.

One day a young chicken that lived thereabout,
Stood watching to see the ducks pop in and out,
Now turning tail upward, now diving below;
She thought, of all things, she should like to do so.

So the poor silly chick was determined to try;
She thought 'twas as easy to swim as to fly:
Though her mother had told her she must not go near,
She foolishly thought there was nothing to fear.

'My feet, wings, and feathers, for aught I can see,
As good as the duck's are for swimming,' said she:
'Though my beak is pointed, and their beaks are round,
Is that any reason that I should be drowned?

'Why should I not swim then, as well as a duck?
I think I shall venture, and e'en try my luck!
For,' said she ('spite of all that her mother had taught her),
'I'm really remarkably fond of the water.'

So in this poor ignorant animal flew,
But soon found her dear mother's cautions were true:
She splashed, and she dashed, and she turned herself round,
And heartily wished herself safe on the ground.

But now 'twas too late to begin to repent,
The harder she struggled the deeper she went;
And when every effort she vainly had tried,
She slowly sank down to the bottom and died !

The ducks, I perceived, began loudly to quack,
When they saw the poor fowl floating dead on its back;
And by their grave gestures and looks in discoursing,
Obedience to parents were plainly enforcing.