At the Pond

I sat and stared at the pretty pond
with fish and mallards all gathered around,
writing this poem, and they thought I'd food
to give, but there was none to be found.

They mostly went away, but two ducks stayed near
along with a black carp, who'd forgotten fear;
I spoke to those three, of feelings and such,
but as for food, they were out of luck.

The ducks then went to the center of the pool,
to drink some water, and watch the fool,
who was making all of the funny sounds
but offering no food to be found.