When life gets very lonesome
And I mope and cuss and cry,
I wander back to MOAB dear,
The thread that will not die.

I wander through ten thousand posts
In which I leant a hand,
And read the songs of triumph
At every turning Grand.

The fights and quips I wander through
Are quick, and fun, and bright,
And somehow reading MOAB makes
The world seem put to rights.

For there's nothing like a MOAB
To brighten up your day
A band of good and faithful
To warm you on your way.

No, there's nothing like a MOAB,
To make a mad world calm,
So here's a toast to MOAB Folks,
And --most of all -- to Mom!!

Zachariah Pendurthle Jones
A Hankering Fer Freedom
Penny Dreadful Poetry, New Haven, 1956