[Frank]

Donald begets a series of bombarding echoing, into the foggy forest - sonically dense
Putting his woodwind instrument back into his top pocket, distraught and upset
Donald hopped off the log in the marshes down trodden trench like a rotting bench
When a corresponding squawk came from the distant tropical west, his binoculars rocked on his neck
Watching the flock - with his shotgun, propped with intent, he locked and loaded it, bullet lodged in
As the oxygen left Donald’s breath, blocking the migrating swaths - polka dotted descent
Following the raucous vignette, gliding in over the top of his head, astonishing finesse
The rippling pond calms as Donald calls for another series of honking and gets
The attention of a colorful mallard – double barrel focused on its coddling breast
Insulated feathers upon its chest, shiny, green bobbing heads
Silvery white bodies and grey wings with blue markings, and orange bottomed feet waddling webbed
Donald reaches into his balmy vest, squatting on the ledge of the pond with his palms offering
Donald tests a barrage of effects, as one of the birds wanders next to his toppling tent
Pompous, majestic, Donald shot, as the flock shot off the pond like a rocketing jet
Reloading as they shockingly fled, feathers flying gently, rocking to a silent plop in the ponds monotonous ebb
Droppings wallop his lenses, droppings get on to his vest; he wipes away the globs, watching their ascent
"Kanc, Kanc, Kanc, Kanc, Kanc, Kanc” He fires a lone shot into the fog, into the mirage of its end
The group of birds mob from the threat, squawking over the pond, obnoxious and stressed
Donald wobbles drenched to his rotting nest, where his squabbling friends are waking up starving and vexed
Going on and on about how Donald squandered the rest of the food, boggled - he vomits depressed
Eating up the story, he apologizes and sets out, pardoning himself.
Donald returns to the pond with his friends.
Donald’s friends make wise cracks, quaking with hopes the birds return to the pond - unresponsive again
Honking into the disheartening wind, the reflection off the water is nostalgically grim
Suddenly he spots them again; Donald looks out through his binoculars fondly watching them in the yonder suspense
Squawking and quacking, Aaaaaaink…Aaaaaink... Aaaaink...Bombarding the pond, with harkening revenge
Swarming in from the dawn – Donald and his friends dropped - as they swept in like special operative feds
The Mighty duck waddled webbed towards Donald, stopping to sense, taking cautious steps: blotting wet
Stepping over rock and grit, the flock comically begged, frolicking into the pond to periodically fetch -
Soggily necked - squawking avenged, Donald neglects to go for his gun, and oddly reflects while the flock mockingly treads
Beady eyed duckey faces conned and mislead, jostling to be fed
Donald promptly edges the chamber backwards with hollow tip lead
Drama, suspense, as the birds catastrophically sped off the pond, shell shocking intense
Donald’s diabolical quest, Donald looks over and honestly says
I find that a ducks' opinions of me is greatly influenced by whether or not I got bread.