A chain saw whines out in the woods, A farmer fells some trees. He's making wood to stow away For the coming winter freeze. And while he saws his mind will stray To the day the work is done He'll hunt out through the fields and trees With his favorite dog and gun. In a perfect wedge and flying high. A flock of mallards wing their way To Southern feeding grounds to stay.
Wild instinct warns the ducks each fall To move before the icy squall.
On swishing wings they move each day And rest in marchlands on the way. Each day they fly out to the fields And feed there on the wasted yields. At evening, while there still is light, They'll hunt a watered place for night. The mallard must protection seek. They must avoid the beast of prey And watch for hunters on the way They'll fly across the hunter's blind.