Sonnet on the potential demise of the National Federation of Eighteen Plus Groups
(hereafter referred to as the ĎFederationí).

When every area has apathy
And no-one wants to help to add to Plus
When posts unfilled on all groupsí committee
And people drift away with little fuss

When finances are at an all time low
Officially we canít afford a drink!
And one by one events are left to go
Some of us are going to stop and think

If we canít heal these mortal bleeding sores
If we canít save the groups from dying now
Then let the Federation close itsí doors
And let us all to Plus take one last bow

But while one group, one member still remain
Thereís hope for our past glories to regain

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