He lives a lonely sort of life in Dunkeld's old brown lake
A black and white muscovy duck or should I say a drake
And every time I visit there he follows me around
As if I were a long lost friend that he at last had found,
He quacks as he swims out to greet me and waggles up from the lake shore
As if to say I have not seen you for a few days maybe more
Quite close enough to touch him he must be expecting to be fed
On the next time that I visit there I must take him some bread,
He must have been a child's pet for he seems so very tame
And perhaps he was one of those pets who had a given name
And suppose the child grew tired of him and brought him to the lake
He or she loved him for a little while and then him did forsake,
The wild duck and moorhens of the lake for him not much company
And though free to travel as he wish he seems lonely to me.
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