The 6×3 Poem



The excitement grew, tension mounted
The time was drawing near;
Dozens of DXers were coming
To tune a listening ear.

Conventions make headline news,
they say, but this one was unique,
Held in that wondrous 6 x 3:
None is allowed to peek

With tents set up and aerial wires
A running round and round,
Radios all in their positions
High on a sandy mound.

With lots to eat and lots to drink
Friendships renewed and made,
Many raffle tickets sold and bought,
Subs to secretary paid!

Sutton likes his tea flavoured with
Plenty pepper and salt,
Hans quoted selling prices,
when Conversation came to a halt.

poem2 Ray downed raw oysters by the dozen
Much to, his own surprise,
Davy logged all of the races,
His veries will be in disguise.

The wind it bIew and the rain fell down;
One tent was carried away,
But Des, the brave lad, stuck to his post,
Somebody had to stay.

There was a Special from 4ZA,
From Alaska came a call
With host, Jim Healey, and Modern Sound,
It was a ball and all.

The 6×3 it was open wide,
Merv was lying at rest,
With the Tilley burning so brightly,
The heat was at its best.

DXers often stay up all night–
That, they do proudly boast,
Bleary red eyes end bewhiskered chins,
They really are the most.

 But eventually they all disperse
And homeward make their way,
Some to bed, some to the riverside,
To end a jolly day.

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