Reporters, hail! It's me (alas),
That old guy with the hourglass.
With grizzled face and flowing beard
I'm back again, as you had feared.
Although it may seem parvenu
For me to call an interview,
I do proclaim with scythe held high
(Look out, this might poke out an eye)
That we must thank our ink-stained mates
As Century 20 terminates.
All right! Let's start! Get things a brewin'
With hugs for Marshall H. McLuhan.
To Callwood, June and Carman, Bliss
Let's raise our hats in gratefulness.
John Haslett Cuff, Will Chevalier.
Yo! Good show, John Dauphinee.
Bronwyn Dranie, Melvin Rowe,
Barbara Frum, Maurice Custeau,
Harry Bruce (that Maritimer),
Barbara Moses, Moses Znaimer.
Of course it would be just inhuman
Not to salaam Peter Newman,
Peter Gzowski, Ross Munro,
John Honderich, Danielle Mailloux,
Robert Fulford, Pat McGuire.
Bravo, Linden MacIntyre!
Peter Kent and Russell Smith,
We have three cheers to thank you with:
Hip, hip, hooray! Carole Corbeil!
And as for Lotta Dempsey: Yay!
A debt we owe you all, that's certain
(not to mention Pierre Berton).
Thanks to Lorne Green, Richard Bower,
Und danke, Peter Kuitenbrouwer,
Sandy Ross, Alphonse Ouimet,
Merci! Merci! Lise Bissonnette.
Thanks a bunch. Could we be blunter,
Stephen Brunt or Stephen Hunter?
Pop a cork to toast George Bain
and Doris A. at Chatelaine.
Here's a few to mention singly:
Valerie Pringle, Simon Dingley,
Ralph Benmergui, Charlotte Gray,
René Lévesque, Kim Pittaway.
Peggy Wente? You're darn tootin'.
Avril Benoit, Rick Salutin.
Shucks, Canucks! We find no fault in
Allan Maitland, Matthew Halton,
Liam Lacey, Gord Sinclair.
Hoorah for Pammy Wallin's hair!
Ken Whyte, all right! You're out of sight!
And John Ross Robertson, good night.
Let's kiss Rex Murphy, then for fun
We'll go high-five Lloyd Robertson.
Hanomansing! Hey there, Ian!
You've given us a spot to paean.
Peace we send you, and some pax on
Peter Mansbridge, Marni Jackson.
Gerald Hannon? (You just knew it.)
He shot! He scored! with Foster Hewitt.
As for Mike and Rob, be strong-
For two Enrights don't make a wrong.

Our sand's run out; our rhyme is through.
Sweet Y2K to all of you.
Dear correspondents wise and fair,
With this next century take care.
Till then, let us raise up our beers.
(I'll see you in a hundred years.)