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by Raymond "Beppo" Paretzky.
At Oxford thirteen long, long years ago,
There was born the Byron Society.
Festive friends gave voice to lyric song,
To eloquence, wisdom, and piety;
Inspiring testaments to noble ideals,
We had everything but propriety.
’Til then I’d written hardly any verse,
A few musty thoughts here or there, perhaps;
Unless you consider my Vogon rhymes,
The cause of countless interstellar naps.
But lured by laurels I penned my famous tale
Of the MCR eight’s rowing collapse.
And now despite the wreckage of the years,
From our disparate lives we all gather,
Our mothballed tuxedos redeemed from hock,
Hair blackened by Grecian formula lather,
To sing the muse’s praises once again,
An evening of old friends and new blather.
John works in New York saving on taxes,
We all envy his trips to Bermuda,
And Richard on his plantation lingers,
Savoring meals of caviar and Gouda;
While Jenny can be found sculpting all day,
Keeping busy with a huge welded Buddha.
Raj and Kara were to be here tonight,
They are a couple with Trinity roots;
Kara directs a profitable fund,
She and Greenspan, some say, are in cahoots.
And Fluntz crunches numbers for the U.S. right,
He’s the guru of the Ronnies and Newts.
Selling his Dad’s Czech jewelry supplies
Is that ultimate Byronist Danny,
He’s just returned from down under travels,
His devotion to leisure’s uncanny;
He’s decided, in fact, to never grow up,
You might say he is quite Peter Pan-ny.
And finally Chris, who inspired this dinner,
Aboard his boat he’s always the skipper;
If his instruments fail he’ll steer you ashore,
Just by keeping in sight the big dipper.
He’ll ring in 2000 in style, no doubt,
For we all know there’s nobody hipper.
My song is now done, its time is now past,
Pass the port and let’s drink our libation;
I toast here tonight past, present and future,
Trinity mates from every nation.
And now Karen and I have Michael and Josh,
Contributions to the new generation;
So the rest of this crowd must do its part,
To refill Trinity by procreation!