Fly away Peter, fly away Paul...

I was down in the meadows alongside the river towards evening when a flock of mallards landed on the grass nearby, paying no attention to my presence at all.

I realised that they were all drakes except for one duck which seemed already to have chosen her mate. The pair headed purposefully off across the field, with the remainder following behind until they recognised (perhaps) that they were on a losing wicket...

Time to try the next bar.