There once was a Number Ten school
Where students were taught by the rule:
To do unto others
To honor their mothers
To be kind, and never be cruel.

They learned how to read and to add,
And history, more than a tad.
They learned how to spell,
Handwriting as well,
Until recess (for which they were glad).

And when all their school days were done
They said, "This has been so much fun,
We ought to meet here
The same time each year
And picnic out under the sun."

So Robinson, Crawford and Moore,
McKusick and Wilbur and Mower,
Selected a date
To all congregate
When their families would meet, ever more.

Each August, the clans come together
At the schoolhouse, whatever the weather,
To meet with the folks,
And swap a few jokes,
And renew the familial tether.

The picnic is not just a meeting,
But also a good time for eating!
With salads and pie,
And baked beans, oh my,
Those diets, they sure take a beating.

And as the millennium nears,
With all of its hopes and its fears,
The Picnic just stays
On third Saturdays
As it has now, for eighty-five years.