Take a break from the election misery with a Clement Clarke Moore parody

’Twas the day after the election, when all through the house

Everyone was depressed, sister and spouse.

Our ballots were delivered with signatures and care

In hopes that St. Joe and Kamala would soon be there

Legally in the White House, snuggled in their beds

While visions of a new Supreme Court danced in their heads.

And papa with his medicinals, and I with a nightcap

Had just numbed our brains for a long winter’s nap

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the blinds and gave myself whiplash.

The blue moon shining on the just-mowed grass

Gave a luster of a clear midday in the election morass

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a campaign bus led by eight Dems full of cheer,

With a little old driver so positively apropos,

I knew in a moment he must be St. Joe.

More rapid than eagles his cabinet they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now, Beto! now, Bernie! now Julián and Amy!

On, Elizabeth! on, Pete! on, Cory and Tammy!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the housetop the cabinet they flew

With the sleigh full of ballots, and St. Joe too —

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the rooftop

Those determined Dems saying, “We won’t stop.

Until we count every vote and turn those red states blue!”

Down the AC duct St. Joe came with a bound.

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his toe,

Even his humble Covid mask seemed to glow;

A bundle of ballots he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a lobbyist just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples, how sweet!

So genuinely kind, how could he be defeated?

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And what little hair he had left was white as the snow;

The stump of a campaign he held tight in his teeth,

And his humanity encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a smooth face and a bright beaming smile

That gleamed and shined in the moonlight

He was bubbly and pumped, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the AC duct he rose;

He sprang to his bus, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight —

“Happy Election to all, and to all a good fight!”