Upon the pond, where lilies float,
Two ducks did meet, each fine of coat.
Their feathers gleamed ‘neath gilded light,
And thus began their feath’ry fight.
Quoth Drake to Dame, with pufféd chest,
“Good wench, thy quacking lacks finesse!
Thy tones do clatter, coarse and crude,
Like pebbles cast in solitude.”
The Dame, unruffled, gave a grin,
“Thy jests, dear Drake, art weak and...
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