GoonMUN 2067

Upon a time, in London’s fume and grime,
When fog did cloak the city’s sorry face,
A word arose, transcending space and time,
To claim its own peculiar place of grace—
GOON.
Not found in the ledgers of the merchant class,
Nor whispered in the halls where statesmen plot,
It thrived where honest cobbles came to pass,
A jewel in a most unpolished lot—
GOON.

What worth, you ask, in such a brutish sound—
This GOON—a thing of heft and sullen might?
A fellow of the street, on common ground,
Whose simple virtues shun the pallid light—
GOON.
He is no dandy with a painted smile,
No fawning clerk with ledger and with pen;
He earns his bread by honest, rugged toil,
A king among the commonwealth of men—
GOON.

Observe this GOON, how he doth stand, a tower,
With shoulders broad as any castle wall!
This GOON’s wits are slow to kindle, yet their power,
Once roused, can hold a miscreant in thrall—
GOON.
His laugh, a thunder from a generous chest,
Doth warn the rakehell skulking in the lane;
His hand, though rough, will welcome any guest,
And shield the weak from undeserved pain—
GOON.

He knows no art of the Venetian glass,
No skill to parse the Latin’s tangled thread—
This GOON;
Yet when the churls and coward-politicians pass,
He marks the true from those with falsehood fed—
GOON.
A GOON is not a brute of wanton strife,
A mindless engine of destructive whim;
He is the steady anchor in this life,
Whose silence puts a stop to vapours grim—
GOON.

So let the poets sing of lofty things—
Of Helen’s face, of Hector’s shining spear;
I sing the GOON whose very presence brings
A balm to all that is insincere—
GOON.
For what is greatness, if not this: to be
A steadfast heart in times that shift and sway?
To stand for truth in plain simplicity—
That is the GOON’s unspoken, grand bouquet—
GOON.

Then here’s a health to him, in a pewter mug—
To GOON!
Let finer souls their finer airs assume;
But give to me the honest, steady lug,
And let the world make way for GOON’s great bloom—
GOON!
For empires crack and dynasties decay,
And fashions fade like flowers of the spring;
But GOON remains, at the closing of the day,
The noblest work a humble world can bring—
GOON!