The Grand Slam

The Grand Slam lives in a turret tall,

And is always out if you choose to call.

He sits aloof and he locks the door

On suitors who climb to the thirteenth floor.

And the Grand Slam smiles through the windowpane

As you crawl to the foot of his stairs again.


Suitors with Diamonds and Hearts to spare

Have climbed to the top of the thirteenth stair.

Armed with a Club and a raft of Spades,

Experts, and others, make constant raids;

But the Grand Slam sits in his turret tall,

And, whatever their suit, he spurns them all.


But, one of these days, if the gods are kind,

I shall pick up a wonderful hand and find

the Ace, the King, the Queen and the Jack

Of all the suits that live in the pack.

I shall call on The Slam in his lonely lair --

And come such a crash on the thirteenth stair.