Tanks For The Memory Poem by Ima Ryma

It was just after World War II,
A hunter drove up in a tank,
Drove right into the lake - tiz true!
It floated a moment, then sank.
So much for the D Day assault.
The D as in duck - doncha know?
That day, ducks got spared by default.
The bubbles bubbled from below.
At last the hunter did appear.
Trudging out of the lake he cussed
His amphibious tank bum steer.
All it was good for now was rust.

That duck hunter never came back.
We ducks still chuckle - what a quack!