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Three poems by Ogden Nash

The DuckBehold the duck.

Behold the duck.

It does not cluck.

A cluck it lacks.

It quacks.

It is specially fond

Of a puddle or pond.

When it dines or sups,

It bottoms ups.

The Turkey

There is nothing more perky

Than a masculine turkey.

When he struts he struts

With no ifs or buts.

When his face is apoplectic

His harem grows hectic,

And when he gobbles

Their universe wobblesThe Scratch

One bliss for which

There is no match

Is when you itch

To up and scratch

I am greatly attached

To Barbara Frietchie

I bet she scratched

When she was itchy

'Neath tile or thatch

That man is rich

Who has a scratch

For every itch.


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