[insert image of duck here]

A duck is sitting on this little poem.
With very angry eyes, it stares at Ross.
But ducks do not contain within them phloem,
For only plants have that. (Use dental floss.)

And, terrified, Ross screams and calls for help.
The duck laughs evilly, and then it grins.
It munches on its daily meal of kelp
And wipes its feathers on its dorsal fins.

So Ross runs frantically and tries to hide
And dashes underneath the heavy bed.
The vicious duck runs faster with its stride,
And very soon it happens—Ross is dead.

But no one mourns the awful death of Ross,
For, after all, it's not that great a loss.

for Ross