OBAMA (a victory poem of sorts)
In their dreams of dark nights
Can the laurel of victory receive.
Bring out the drums
And beat a tune for our legs,
Rhythm to bring to life our fat bums.
Ahh, sweet verdict
Of eagerly thumbing thumbs!
Where are those that did failure predict?
Mitt is muffled,
The Oval Room retained
And Obama's hair unruffled.
After all is silent
And the victory songs are over:
Repay the trust which we willingly lent!