I'm just an old has-been decoy.
No ribbons have I won.
My side and head are full of shot
From many a blazing gun.

My home has been the river.
Just drifting along with the tide.
No roof have I had for a shelter.
No one place where I could abide.

I've rocked to winter's wild fury
I've scorched in the heat of the sun
I've drifted and drifted and drifted
For tides never cease to run.

I was picked up by some fool collector
Who put me up on a shelf.
But my place is out on the river
Where I can drift all by myself.

I want to go back to the shoreline
Where flying clouds hang thick
and low.
And get the touch of rain drops.
And the velvety soft touch of the snow.
~