[A member who prefers, I think, to remain anonymous contributes the following birthday ode.  -- SES]

 

To Our Own Nabokov

 

Your new birth date we celebrate
Today and dedicate enough
Of our poor spirits to your praises
With our humble rephrases
Your greatness to inflate!

We love your works dearly - - But do we understand 'em?
We don't!
You too, we believe we love clearly - - But do we understand you?
We don't.

Although we pretend to - - Ne'er shall we attain to
That lofty realm of liberty
From which we may Look down on thy great He.
Doggerel is made by fools like me
But only van Krombov can write like Thee!

(signed) a nony mouse indeed