By some terrible misfortune, the duckling finds itself gasping for air among a flock of swans, his wingspan curtailed, his yellow plumes an ugly sight when pitched against shiny silver down. The jeering, pushing, mobbing, and stamping, bind to annihilate, casting the duckling into a hole bleak and black.
Mother is too fond of the bottle, Father unknown.
By some freak of fortune, the duckling is learning how to be a swan, not performing very well, truth be told, he’s failing daily. His beak’s unshapely, his feet don’t match when lined up beside swanky swan paddles. The swan rules, tasks, duties, and rewards concoct to bowl over, wrestling away the duckling’s last ounce of courage.
You’ll never amount to anything, his teacher echoes all other grownups.
By some awful misadventure, the duckling finds itself turning brown-green and odd, not snow-white and elegant as planned. There’s no hiding his true nature now. Cygnets turned swans, graceful and majestic, make waves he cannot navigate. The duckling turned duck ducks.
You can fly, you know, a tiny fish surviving among big fish, tells him below the water’s surface.
By some awesome turn of luck, the duckling is flapping his wings, trying to surf mild summer winds in vain at first, but panic turns to skill and mastery, the air is pleased, lifts, raises up and aloft the flock of swans. From above, the long necks don’t scare. The duckling discovers he’s bigger than this bird and smaller than that.
Fly high and dive deep, duck, goose or swan, she told her flock.Confidence Poem – Unequal Opportunities