They came for the cake,
they came for the dance,
some came to rekindle,
some on the off-chance
that sirens would be there,
And they’d all have a ball;
and those that didn’t arrive
couldn’t have heard the call.
.
They came for the weekend,
the revels, the craic;
and some that had come
they would never go back.
.
There was cake,
and very much drink,
the music was loud,
with no space to think;
.
the gig it was heaving,
a riotous win
and none thought of leaving,
and a few latecomers,
were still to come in.
.
Satyr Day was a success,
it reeked with much fun,
if you like yours in excess,
not a poem, a pun.
.
And Sunday was just
an extension in all but its name,
of Satyr’s Day’s jesting—
… until the dawning of Mun.
Graeme Sandford 