Ten Thousand Poems Shining
¶ 1
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Oh, the Grand Old Duke of York,
He had ten thousand men.
He marched ‘em up to the top of the hill,
And we all know what comes next…
¶ 2
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And the Grand Old Dame Britannia,
She gave poor Ireland Hell.
(But let’s not dwell on that today,
It’s a tale too long to tell.)
¶ 3
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Now this Grand Old Website here
Contains ten thousand poems.
But we’re not satisfied with that,
We intend to keep on going.
¶ 4
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Though some may say we’re Fruitcakes,
Who should be bound hands and feet,
We shall churn out verse, good, bad or worse,
For as long as our hearts beat!
¶ 5
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30/11/07
Denys E. W. Jones
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