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…
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.)
Now this Grand Old Website here
Contains ten thousand poems.
But we’re not satisfied with that,
We intend to keep on going.
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!
Denys E. W. Jones