 | The Cavalier daily Thursday, December 21, 1972 |  |
A Christmas Fable
It was the night before Christmas.
And all through the White House
Lackeys were hurrying and scurrying about.
In a large room of grand oval shape,
Sat Henry K., wrapped in a red cape.
From far away he flew, to be here tonight
For St. Dick's debut it seemed only right.
Henry sat scribbling, with his quill pen,
Writing this and that, and this-that again.
The time was so near, yes, so 'close at hand.'
Soon St. Dick would appear, and speak to the land.
He'd crossed off Duc Tho, and President Thieu,
Dropped Connally, MacGregor and Romney too.
Scratching and scrawling, now feverishly he'd write
No Agnew, no Elliott, nor Dole on this night.
Poor Tricia, poor Julie, and old faithful, Pat,
But on this Christmas, they'd stripped all the fat.
O there'd be no room on this hallowed day,
For many guests were coming, from so far away.
You see, dear people, St. Dick's gift to this land
Was to bring home our boys, from Vietnam.
To a big party they all were to come,
To drink with St. Dick, and have all sorts of fun.
And all through the White House
Lackeys were hurrying and scurrying about.
In a large room of grand oval shape,
Sat Henry K., wrapped in a red cape.
From far away he flew, to be here tonight
For St. Dick's debut it seemed only right.
Henry sat scribbling, with his quill pen,
Writing this and that, and this-that again.
The time was so near, yes, so 'close at hand.'
Soon St. Dick would appear, and speak to the land.
He'd crossed off Duc Tho, and President Thieu,
Dropped Connally, MacGregor and Romney too.
Scratching and scrawling, now feverishly he'd write
No Agnew, no Elliott, nor Dole on this night.
Poor Tricia, poor Julie, and old faithful, Pat,
But on this Christmas, they'd stripped all the fat.
O there'd be no room on this hallowed day,
For many guests were coming, from so far away.
You see, dear people, St. Dick's gift to this land
Was to bring home our boys, from Vietnam.
To a big party they all were to come,
To drink with St. Dick, and have all sorts of fun.
Alas, it's a fable, merely a sham,
And for yet another Christmas, there's war in that land.
But wouldn't it be fine, yes such a treat,
If men such as these, were inclined towards this feat.
I'd just as soon dream though, alone in my bed,
And watch for those things that dance in one's head.
For surely a dream is closer to home
Than all of these wishes for those, there, on on their own.
And for yet another Christmas, there's war in that land.
But wouldn't it be fine, yes such a treat,
If men such as these, were inclined towards this feat.
I'd just as soon dream though, alone in my bed,
And watch for those things that dance in one's head.
For surely a dream is closer to home
Than all of these wishes for those, there, on on their own.
Yes a dream is closer, sadly so near,
And death is too easy, when it is not here....
And death is too easy, when it is not here....
—Drew Gardner
| The Cavalier daily Thursday, December 21, 1972 | |