The Rise And Fall Of Quacker Bilk
In the cooling shade of a banyan tree,
On the banks of the river Dilk,
Lives a Jewish duck of ninety three,
By the name of 'Quacker Bilk'.
A master on the clarinet,
On harpsichord, a star.
He once composed a minuet
upon his gold guitar.
He strums and drums on riverbanks,
Then bows to huge applause,
From pirate frogs that hop the plank,
And lion fish that roar.
He's clearly quite a writer too,
With a song at number one,
That's all about a cockatoo,
From the land of Avalon.
His mandolins and tambourines,
His trumpets, drums and flute,
Are kept in padded mezzanines
With shiny horns that hoot.
This busking duck's a prodigy.
A genius it seems.
A fowl of finest pedigree,
With super self esteem.
By eighteen months, he'd learnt guitar.
By two, an old bassoon.
He'd play to crowds from near and far,
On sunny afternoons.
For Quacker's, life was rosy red,
With record deals in sight.
And news of Quacker's talents spread,
To his manager's delight.
But something changed, and Quacker's fame
Destroyed the charming duck.
The tunes he played just weren't the same,
But Quackers passed the buck.
He blamed his ageing instruments,
But couldn't face the fact:
His time had gone. It came and went.
He'd simply lost the knack.
So still, he stands on riverbanks,
And plays to jogger's dogs.
Then strums and drums, and clinks and clanks
In local synagogues.