Today I bought a Bamboo Duck <br />Well three, to be precise <br />I bought them at a roadside stall <br />They were just, well….kinda nice <br /> <br />The stall was full of carvings <br />sorta folkys rural things <br />mushrooms carved in sycamore <br />Moths on Beech wood, wings <br /> <br />Yet the Ducks they really drew me <br />They seemed to be alive <br />The colour and the markings <br />Their posture strong and lithe <br /> <br />They’re made from bamboo roots <br />He said, the guy who ran the stall <br />when they uproot a bamboo plant <br />These people use it all <br /> <br />They take the root and clean them <br />read the story in the shape <br />the size and contours telling of <br />the mood the duck will take <br /> <br />The ducks come from Indonesia <br />From a village workshop there <br />to a village green in England <br />where another carver sells his wears <br /> <br />And the beauty of this story <br />when all is said and done <br />Is that no one gets exploited <br />no environmental damage done <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Because bamboo grows rapidly <br /> the resource can be sustained <br />and because Fair Trade is organised <br />an Indonesian village is maintained <br /> <br />The guy who ran the roadside stall <br /> played a part in this as well <br />He only used recycled wood <br />In the things he carved to sell <br /> <br />So now I’ve heard the story of <br />how they came to be <br />The ducks I fell in love with <br />Mean that much more to me<br /><br />Bill Mitton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bamboo-ducks/
