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Muscovy Duck

By 16:03:00 , , , ,

Warning 1: here comes a crazy/nonsense poem I have just written, and I know ducks don't run but is sounds better than swam. Warning 2: Don't read the last stanza and if you do, well it is your fault if you don't think I should have made it end that way, also you are naughty, because I just told you not to read it. But of course I said that so you will have to read it I suppose. Well I warned you! 

Muscovy Duck

I had a Muscovy duck called Plucky
And considered myself quite lucky
Until she grew so large
That people thought she was a barge
When really she was a duckie

One bad thing about my duck
Is she turns the river to muck
But she lays ovate eggs
 The size of five hundred litre kegs
To move them I need a truck

My ducks feather size is rather whopping
So when her wings I was chopping
I kept one lovely feather
For a fan in hot weather
But then I sold it while out shopping

My Muscovy duck loves to play
But she swam far down the river one day
And met with a drake
By the name of Pancake
And together they ran far away

Now that is the end of my story
Because what happened after this gets gory
You don’t want to know
How plucky was turned into dough
So back up there was the end of the story

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