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you know, that one guy

'Twas The Night Before the Election

‘Twas the night before the election and all through the House, only Paul Ryan was stirring, like a sad listless mouse;

His chamber’s majority he knew he would hold, but the Senate was dicey and he felt very cold;

The voters were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of ballots danced in their heads;

And Donald in Michigan and Clinton in Philly, they made one last pitch, the air - it was chilly;

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, Ryan sprang from his chair to see what was the matter;

Away to the window he flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash;

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Psyche! Just kidding. Climate change, yo;

When what to his wondering eyes did appear, But a vision of Lincoln, had he drunk too much beer?

With a tall lanky driver so lively and quick, What was he seeing, this must be a trick;

More rapid than eagles his friends they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now Teddy! Now Ike! Now Reagan! Even, Romney! My goodness, that Trump, what has he done to my party?”

“He courted the racists and planned a big wall, Immigrants and muslims, he said ‘ban them all’“;

“He boasted of assault and claimed it as privilege, In the inner cities he said that blacks would pillage”;

“He fought with the family of a soldier who died, He mocked a reporter, and when confronted he lied”;

“To women he hated, he called them fat pigs, To everyone who crossed him, he got in his digs”;

“His commercials were often anti-semitic, He yelled and he tweeted at all of his critics”;

“He derided a war hero, said he shouldn’t have been caught, he claimed bone spurs, you can bet he never fought”;

As Ryan drew in his head, and was turning around, Down the chimney Abe Lincoln came with a bound;

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot, And his top hat was tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of papers he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack;

His eyes—how they glistened! his dimples, not merry! He approached the Speaker, and his path he did parry;

His slim little mouth was drawn down in a cinch, And his beard was dark, befitting a grinch;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a thin face and not much of a belly, In the background a Trump ad played on the telly;

He was tall and commanding, not much like an elf, And Ryan flinched when he saw him, in spite of himself;

A tear in his eye and a bow of his head, Soon gave Ryan to know he had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, He checked Clinton on his ballot; then turned with a jerk,

“How could you Lincoln?” Ryan asked, nearly spit, “How could I not, Donald Trump is not fit!”

In conclusion he said, “What this party sows, so shall it reap”, And as he departed, Lincoln did weep.

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© 2011-2018 Jeremy A. Gibbs