Winter came on a bit harsh,
But it all comes out in the warsh—
We've got just the thing
For a picnic this spring
At the edge of a cattail marsh.

Claim a meal fit for a king—
One with everything;
Just stomp the yard
Of Avon's Bard
To make your tastebuds sing!

Aged and cut just right
For a tender, juicy bite—
You're all teed up
For a little tin cup
Without a fairway in sight.

So stop to survey the scenery
That shares its name with the eatery—
Between and betwixt
For a coppice of six
In the snow-enshrouded greenery.

To bring this Free Lunch to fruition,
Follow sixty-two years of tradition—
Just hop off your heinie
To find something shiny;
We wish you success on your mission!