By Michael O’Neill (apologies to Clement C Moore
T’was just days before Christmas when all across the land
Holiday parties were scarce, in fact most had been banned.
People wore Covid masks, and covered faces with care.
In hopes a vaccine soon would be there.
Traders were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of the pandemic danced in their heads.
Trump wore a kerchief, he hated wearing a mask,
And settled into bed, his most favourite task.
When out in the cities, there rose such a clatter,
Politicians were braying, oh what was the matter?
Trump sprang from his bed to the window in a flash.
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to old Sleepy Joe.
Then what to his wandering eyes should appear,
But a phalanx of Democrats, and house moving gear.
Now Warren, now Biden, and Harris you vixen,
The White House is no place for you hicks to be in.
Get off my front porch, get over the wall.
Dash away, dash away, dash away all.
And then in a twinkling, Trump heard on the roof,
The preening and prancing of each democrat hoof.
As he drew in his and was turning around,
Down the chimney came Biden, in with a bound.
He was dressed in Armani from his head to his toe,
Impeccably tailored and his face all aglow.
An Electoral College writ he held in his hand,
“It’s time to go Donnie, you have been canned.”
Joe walked out of the office, but said with a smirk.
“Ya gotta leave now, don’t be a jerk.”
Then Trump heard Biden exclaim as he slipped out of sight
“Merry Christmas, to all, and to all a good night”