This is offered as a palette-cleanser to offset the intrusive pollution of Hillary/Trump considerations in a tired brain.
While searching through my Word documents for something else, I ran across this parody of Edgar Allen Poe’s immortal Raven. I took my trusty X-ACTO knife to it in January, 2009 to commemorate my disappointment at Barack Obama being elected. This poem has always been near and dear to my heart ever since I was required to memorize it by the principal at my high school as punishment for some long-forgotten infraction (I was guilty). My sincere apologies to Mr. Poe.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I worried, weak and weary,
Over the sad unknowing voting of Barack Obama’s corps,
Alone I suffered, almost crying, as I hearkened back to lying,
His minion’s lying and evading, fabricating more and more
“It was an aberration,” I concluded, “a job for which he is not suited”
I pray it’s only one term, and never, never more.
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in this past November,
When truth’s final dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I sought tomorrow, with all its hope; deprived of sorrow,
Some solace I sought to borrow, to pass me through a hopeful door
To contentment that I now desired, a hope to which I now aspired,
To hear Obama never more.
When then the silken sad uncertain rustling of a voting curtain
Thrilled me with a notion certain, that a win could be in store
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
I made my mark, my resolve stronger, to hear of hope and change no more,
Only that – and that I swore.
But later on the morrow, the news I heard filled me with sorrow,
Filled me with agonizing sorrow never felt before.
So that now, to mend the breaking of my heart, I stood repeating,
Tis some politician entreating entrance at the White House door.
Some sleazy politician gaining entrance through the White House door.
Fearing for our future, ever more.
Deep into my darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming nightmares no one ever dreamed before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
Until a word there spoken came the whispered word, “Savior.”
A sacred, hallowed whisper that bespoke religious lore.
But he is a mortal man, a man and nothing more.
Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a whisper somewhat louder than before.
“I am the president,” it stated, words to me that I so hated,
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore,
Let me see then whence it came from and this mystery explore.
It was Barack Obama, no one more.
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what he utters is his only stock and store.”
I vow his words will not defeat me, but encourage and entreat me,
To fight on even stronger than those that fought the fight before.
I pray that he will not succeed, in planting Socialistic seed,
And we will fill our country’s need, a tally different than before.
So say the voters, never more.