Twas the Night

 

 

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the land,

The Democrats were purring, and all shaking hands.

Campaign promises were hung by the Capitol with care,

Expecting the Chosen One to deliver, with flare.

 

The entitled were snuggled all warm in their beds,

Visions of free healthcare dancing in their heads.

With me in my satin, and mamma in mink,

We’d just settled down, and noticed a stink!

 

Out on our lawn there arose a huge clamor,

A crowd of gay protestors gathered to hammer!

Away to the window I flew like an eagle,

Tore open the shutters, tripped over our beagle!

 

Mooning me from the landscape below,

The rioters hurled insults and balls of snow.

When what to my bloodshot eyes did appear,

But Barney Frank, and eight tiny queers!

 

That little old driver, so lively and sleazy,

I felt in a flash my stomach go queasy.

More rabid than jackals his minions they marched,

And he ranted and raved ‘til his throat was all parched.

 

“Now Smasher, now Fancy, now Prancer, now Vixen!

Doggone-it, on Stupid, on Donny, Wolf Blitzer!

To the top of the closet, to the top of the Mall!

Now sashay, sashay, sash-a-way all!

 

As dry bones before wild fires ashen,

When they burn with a vengeance, uncontrollable passion,

So up did Barney and Friends consume,

With a spark, and a flame, and smoky plume.

 

And then, in a twinkling, a news flash on telly,

The Chosen had chosen a preacher foul-smelly!

And Barney swooped down to condemn the proceedings,

Despite all the tolerance and diversity pleadings.

 

“A bigot!” they called The Chosen at Time,

“He doesn’t love us, it’s another hate crime!”

The preacher, a bundle of blessings on his back,

Tried kindness and mercy in the face of attack.

 

The eyes of The Chosen looked premature weary,

Not even sworn in, already the fury.

The trolls with their mouths all snarling and sneerful,

A herd in the din of screeching sad tearful.

 

The season of Hope was marred by the Change,

The change in men’s hearts when demanding free range.

No loving, no kindness, no mercy, no space,

To consider the Christ child, his Wonder, His grace.

 

His nail-pierced hands, his broken teeth,

The thorns encircling his head like a wreath,

They battered and bruised his wonderful face,

For the joy set before Him, he suffered disgrace.

 

And to those who still crucify Him, even today,

In a voice like rushing waters he will lovingly say,

“You think you hate me, but that’s a lie,

I came to save you: to live is to die.

Come home, oh sinner, come home even now,

You want to live: I’ll teach you how.”

 

Forever He rides in the sky overhead,

Bringing blessing and hope, even raising the dead.

And I hear Him exclaim as he gives us new sight: 

Merry Christmas to all, now go fight the good fight!”

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