On Friday morn at Irving we arrive
To the round table and to stake our place.
We are not Arthur’s Knights, but we do strive
To write, and to improve with style and grace;
With stories wide in mode and subject too.
Of inner conflict, memoirs, feats of might;
Of magic cloaks, of dance and life askew.
Pen times of sombre, mirth and topics light.
For jocularity we all require;
As there are songs of sadness through our years.
We share, we understand and we aspire
In writing, through our laughter and our tears.
Our fellow writers listen to our prose,
Gives their views, tangible discussion flows.