A house was not a home without animals. ~Abby Geni, The Wildlands, 2018

My neighbor got a flock of ducks;
Six, to be exact.
Two were white and four, brown.
I confess, I was gobsmacked.

Every day as the clock chimed three,
The ducks emerged outside.
Where they lived the rest of the time
I never learned (though I tried).

They picked and scratched at stuff on the ground;
They stretched their necks and wings.
Where was their water, I often wondered;
How did they know these things?

One day they ventured into my front yard,
And Monkey had a fit.
They couldn’t know he’s a herding dog,
Bred to chase a bit.

But Monk could only watch them strut —
His back yard is entirely fenced.
And one day, to my complete surprise,
A truck pulled up and commenced…

To load the pretty ducks all up
And carry them away.
Sold, or given, to a nearby farm
Where they’ll have room to play.

The truth is, my neighbor confessed,
Ducks make a lot of poop.
And having to clean his yard every day
Was worse than banishing the group!

Note: The best I can tell, this poetry form is in common meter — alternating iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter.