We all congregated in the quietest of spaces,
Tucked away in a corner of that most public of places.
A motley crew each bringing their own level of skills,
Gathered one Tuesday at the Library in Brownhills.
First there was Sonia, as elegant as a dancer
But don't let that smile fool you; she rarely takes no for an answer.
Then there was Evelyn, who trekked all the way over from Brum,
Once Sonia agreed to give her back her arm.
Next came David who at first didn't show it,
But underneath that exterior, lies a very talented poet.
A Rose by another name sat on David's left side,
Swapped banter with the Librarians, no need of embarrassment to hide.
Mike the oil worker with stories of travels to share,
Like me a refugee from the foul London air.
Then Susan the smiler taking it all in, quiet and thoughtful,
I detect a shrewdness therein.
And Ronald the ex-trucker, with his story of intrigue and deception,
Never thought logistics could have such a murderous reception.
Finally there was I, a wannabe Percy Shelley,
Who prefers evenings in verse, instead of in front of the telly.
A kind invitation to perform and to share,
My musings and verses to all who were there.
So here I stand, before you once again,
Quoting a few lines of poetry, to amuse you and then…
My thanks to you all for you kind attention
But especially to one, whom we must not forget to again mention.
Our guide and our mentor, who drove our participation;
To the lovely Sonia Dixon, our most wonderful inspiration.