For a duck may be somebody's mother. It lives in the cold of the swamp. Where the weather is cold and dahmp. You may think that this is the end. Well it is.
Every morning — or just about — I wake up with some snatchlet of music in my head. Some days it may take well past lunch for the theme from "What's Happenin'?'" to work its way out and I figure why should I suffer alone?