Writer's Cramp 1/9/25

Wattle Day '50

August 8th, of '36
Mistress and Master picked up sticks,
Headed south, to Botany Bay,
Tired of work, thought 'twas time to play.

April 1st, of '37
By cruel twist of fate
Found themselves, sent to heaven

A writer's camp, their long goodnight,
Where, at last, their words took flight,
To spread their craft through heavenly host,
An angelic site where we can't yet post.

Still each Wattle Day, they look down, full of grace,
To writers gathered 'cross cyberspace,
Who share tales, woven with
love, laughter, and with tears,
And admire all that's grown
here, year on year.

In this, their golden year,
Their presence felt oh so clear,
Though they've long since gone,
Their site, their legacy
Still lives on.