Once upon a time, in a land not too far away
From the computers where the employees of Google and Apple did play,
Six fearless companions set out for a day.
Songs had been sung, and stories told
Of a secret club house accessible only to the fearless and bold.
From the Valley of Mill up the fearsome Dipsea Stair,
Through dark forest and hot valley, let the faint of heart beware.
But alas, our adventurers grew parched and weary,
And one of them very nearly grew teary.
When off in the distance, a travelers delight.
Renewed and restored the six companions now swore
To give up the clubhouse search nevermore.
Onwward! They trekked though their legs were so sore.
At long last through the trees a roof top was seen
But there was encountered a gate-keeper so keen.
“None shall pass!” he roared with a holler
“Without your ID and a nice 20 dollar.”
The gate-keeper thus soothed, the companions entered with joy The clubhouse of lore was true, and I’m not being coy. The weary travelers were greeted by such friendly frau With pitchers of beer, giant pretzels, leiderhosen and how!
The accordions exhaled while dancers did swing, much polka ensued; The companions didn’t want to miss a thing. Bratwurst was chewed, red cabbage delight, glasses lifted high shouts of “Prost!” did sing through the night.
The legends don’t lie, the lore is all true, There is a secret club house in Marin, golly, who knew?