Twas the night before voting, when all through the land
All the people were won'dring
Who next would command.
The pollsters and pundits had made their predictions
In hopes that the folks would heed their benedictions.
The reporters were nestled all smug and content
'Cuz they'd buried Benghazi, that dreadful event.
And Bill out campaigning and Hill who knows where
Were intent on the White House
(Once Barry's not there).
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter.
Barry sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew in a hurry
To see what, if anything, might prompt him to worry.
The lawn was still sodden after the storming,
(The fault, some proclaimed, of grim global warming).
When, what did his wondering eyes soon behold,
But the ghost of Dick Nixon, sassy and bold.
He was driving an Edsel, a dusty old Ford.
(That comp'ny'd rejected the bailout, of its own accord).
Less rapid than turtles the vehicle came,
And Dick hooted and chanted some notable names:
"Gone, Biden; gone, Clinton; gone, Carney; gone, Rice!
Your time is now up! You'll all pay the price!
J'accuse you of being a Benghazi-gater!
You may think you're home free,
But you all will pay later!"
His eyes--how they sparkled!
His teeth--how they glowed!
He got out of the car and laughed as he strode.
"They said when I left twas the best thing I'd done;
I predict your departure'll be second to none."
Then he sprang to his Edsel, and let loose a chortle.
"You're flying high now, but no man is immortal."
He was heard to exclaim as the gates he had breached:
"There are worse things than losing--
Say, like being impeached!"