There was once an old writer named Shea
Who wrote more and more every day
And everyone could tell
That he wrote very well
Even when he had nothing to say!

There was a young fellow named Mark
Whose writing began as a lark
Now he writes blank verse
In lines that are terse
And with genius his work now doth spark!

A young writer, Victoria, its true
Would write science fiction until she turned blue
If she wasn't singing
Then words would be winging
From her pen as a NEW outline flew!

There was a young writer named Jen
Who wrote for the President of Penn
'Twas her secret delight
To write fiction at night
And that's all GOOD gen on our Jen

There once was a poet named Lil
Who gave all her readers a thrill
But I hadn't a clue
About the words that she'd hew
For she wrote them all in Espagnil

A writer named Wendy Washburn's
Career took a sudden upturn
When she sold a short story
What price fame and glory
Just think of the money she'll urn

There was once a green poet named Pat
Who drew words from a chapter so fat
She said, 'I'll be bound
Why a poem I've found
What the heck do you all think of that?'

There once was a writer named Jude
Who's skills were exceedingly good
In fact, she'd honed them so
That while doing Aikido
She wrote all the science fiction she could

There once was a writer named Dilys
Who with great tales of Wales oft would thrill us
For she drew her salary
From the Arthur Ross Gallery
And with culture she tried to instill us

There once was an editor KG
Whose Almanac came to us free
She said I'll retire
Before I expire
For I feel that this job 's killing me

There once was an author, Mark West
Who with writing skills richly was blessed
For his first novel rare
'Twas set in Delaware
To find a publisher now is his quest

There once was a poet Adele
Whose vision and foresight did gel
In her poetic dreams
With imaginary themes
That had deep innuendo as well

There once was a poet named Couch
Who at computing was also no slouch
But he said, 'I'm away
To get my M.F.A.
Before I turn into a grouch

There once was a writer named Holly
An historical romance was her folly
For interest she Lothed
When her boyfriend she tossed
But we're sure she'll recover richt brawly!

There was a young writer, Suzannah
Who thought she'd discovered Nirvana
For to her P & P
Was the knees of the bee
In other words, heaven-sent manna

A young writer named Moira O'Keefe
Was overheard sighing with relief
They have let me attend
P & P till the end
Without asking me once 'Where's the beef?"

There once was a Scot named McGhie
who produced reams of verses for free.
He was good with the patter
'Bout the structure of matter
-- Of great interest to no one but he.

Now a few of our group I have missed
And I beg of them not to be pissed
By the light of the moon
I will get to them soon
Then they all can be equally dissed!