We’re wannabe writers, we
meet to discuss
No-one knows we do it, well
no-one but us
In Surry Hills we unite, at
Pete’s place no less
Where we all have to do it,
read our lines, we confess
Whatever we’ve written, just
read it out loud
Nobody cares you don’t like
it, just read it, be proud
We’re all just beginners,
like kids starting out
You’ve got to keep trying,
“Keep reading”, we shout
There’s Lily who writes with
cartoons to amuse
And Pete who confesses about
things he once did use
And Sam who so serious, his
characters they disclose
Their innermost secrets, that
he includes within his prose
While Paul in his stories
attempts to invite
You into his world, his
arena, his fight
His world is a cauldron, of
criminals and liars
The heat and the fuel, no
wonder there’s fires
But Sophie she cried, “I am
out of my league”
We said, “That is rubbish,
what have you achieved”
She read us a story, direct
from her heart
It was just a ripper, her
thoughts she’d impart
In a fortnight we’ll discuss,
devoid of red faces
Where our literature it takes
us, to all different places
It’s good for the heart, the
soul and the mind
For when we discuss, who
knows what we’ll find
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