I’ll fly off to a fjord in Norway
Post “Oh the pain” above the doorway
If you insist on going your way,
For this is not a duck.
That is what cowards say, and realists
Who run away, shun the appeal its
Rare white fur holds, although they fell it’s
A rabbit full of pluck.
Let’s multiply, let’s twitch our noses,
Let’s walk among the night’s dark roses,
Though where the oldest story goes is
A place where tongues migh cluck.
I’ve had my share of quacks and hisses;
Whereof mouth cannot speak, it kisses;
Hop to it, man, and realize this is
A lovely bit of luck.