There exists a place
In fabled lore
Where writers race
Both rich and poor
Some ask for tips
Some say hello
With wine-filled sips
True colors show
Some fight a lot
They bitch and moan
More oft’ than not
They’re sad, alone
And in this land
The fun, I sing
Is throwing sand
And arguing
Much joy, though sin
The jerks, to mock
And when you win
They always block
That’s when you know
Their points are poop
Come, join the show
This Writers Group
How the World Should Work 