Ugly Duckling

I am an ugly duckling.

I have greasy feathers

And stubby feet.

My beak is weathered

And my wings are unshapely.

Other birds only enjoy seeing me

To tease or ask questions.

I’m actually quite witty,

And it’s been my only blessing.

Alright, that isn’t entirely true;

I have a few loyal friends

Who see past the ugly outward view

And see the me within.

Today I’m going to change, though.

Someone left soap in the pond

And there are shears in the garden.

I’ve got some paints from the shed

So I’m going to get started.

One friend held the shears

Another instructed me about the paints.

I’ve got the soap. Here I go.

Cut! Snip!

Scrub scrub scrub.

Swish! Splash!

And just like that, I’m done

Heavens!

I’m a different duck. Am I even a duck?

My most loyal friends say no, I am stunning.

Even the birds who’d point and cluck

Notice that I’m a little more interesting.

Now, just to be absolutely clear:

I don’t rise early just to achieve beauty.

I don’t hold the opinions of others so dear

That they’d affect how I think of me.

Nor do I change anything about me

On the inside, never, ever.

This part I still prefer others to see

I’m told is so much better.

I’m a swan.