O let us all sing of the Powdermilk Band,
Or at least let us hum, if a tune we can’t carry,
To honor these four who before us do stand
(From your left to right), Bob, Adam, Dick, Mary.

For rapt attention,
Bob Douglas is raptest,
And with utter devotion he plays mandolin.
He learned about rapture from being a Baptist,
And keeping your tunes free of error or sin.

But music must swing freely, says Adam Granger,
And he needs to have fun to play well, he feels;
He believes in less practice, more pleasure, more danger.
You pick up the guitar, and you play from your heels.

But you must have the beat, says Rick Dees on bass,
Though some people think that machines can keep time;
When music has rhythm, it soars into space,
And what was just good becomes simply sublime.

A singer par excellence, Mary DuShane;
The melody line is the thing that she stresses.
She is so full of music, in her bones, in her brain,
Her mistakes come out better than most folks’ successes.

Four fine musicians, so different, and yet
They have made us a band we shall never forget.
How did this happen? Well, a long time ago,
Four men and four women whom few of you know
Were joined in wedlock (as then was the fashion),
Made homes for themselves, and, in acts of passion,
Created the offspring who eventually came
To join the band and now the Hall of Fame.
The odds against this happening again in just the same way
Are simply phenomenal, but then so are they.