EPS Members are gifted and shrewd and accustomed to lots of success
are few who would dare to suggest they compare with William our FRPS.
landscapes, his portraits, derivatives, nudes, all bear the
as William would say in his own modest way, "When the Members’ comes
round I’ll be Champ."
toiled in the darkroom from winter to spring in his bid to outdistance the
he dreamed of the day he would hear the judge say, “Bill, you’ve won
the Memorial Shield".
the path of the prophet is littered with rocks, and the future’s not
easy to see,
poor William forgot what great Kismet did not - which was Jimmy AFIAP.
critics agreed that the rivals were good and the difference between them
when Spring had been sprung, and the prints had been hung, it was clear
that the critics were right.
tension built up as the judge stood in doubt and considered again and
said, “This print by Bill is fantastic, it’s brill. The least I can give it is ten.
Council all fainted, the Treasurer swooned, the President fell from his
the moment’s fierce heat, William sprang to his feet and raised a
clenched fist in the air.
the judge hadn’t finished; he turned to Jim’ print and announced A
supreme, it’s a dream, it’s the cream de la cream and I‘m giving it
ten and a half.
judging was over, an unheeding crowd swept away to a late evening tea,
behind in the dust, close by D O Hill’s bust lay our FRPS RIP.
each midnight, past presidents gaze from above in apparent imperviousness,
each portrait on high casts a pitying eye on the shade of our FRPS.
you must have a moral, it has to be this, taking photographs ought to be
you find that your aim is desire to find fame - just you listen to Ko-ko