Senator Brown's Election

Senator Brown’s Election

Listen, my children, come here, sit down,

I’ll tell you the story of Senator Brown

On the nineteenth of January in Twenty-ten

Hardly a man watched CNN

For election results, from town to town

Brown said to the voters, “When the Dems try to pass

Their Health Care reform with plenty of tax

I’ll say ‘No, don’t pit class against class’

I will vote to give this bill the axe!

They want your money and they want control

But I and the opposite side have a goal

To kill legislation that will cause harm

To every American city and farm.

For my country, I’ve proven I’m willing to arm.”

Then, Brown said, “Good night” and was wished “Good luck”

So he drove away in his GM truck

Just as his poll numbers rose over Coakley’s

Whose thug swung wide at reporters’ knees

And who couldn’t spell the name of her state;

Though she thought vacations were just great

To shake hands at Fenway? – A Horrid Fate!

And her huge ego, that was magnified

By her own impression of her mind.

Meanwhile, the President, her ally, effete

Waited and watched with poll-driven ears

Till in the tanking numbers he hears

Pleading for help at the Barack door

The sound of “Stop!” and the tramp of feet

And the measured tread of the Tea Partiers

Marched on to their congressmen’s floor

Then they climbed up the steps of their state capitols

By the concrete stairs, with purposeful tread

The citizens to their elected pled

And startled the leaders, who summoned their trolls,

With snarky laughter they mocked and sneered

At these masses, whose purpose never veered

“Protect the Constitution, steep and grand

The highest authority in the land.”

Brown paused.  He listened.  He didn’t look down.

A moment in history for every town.

The conservative flames he fanned….

So, in his truck rode this good man, Scott

And with shady deals he couldn’t be bought

To every American the lesson’s been taught

“Defy with your vote, neglect it not"

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,

Four words that shall echo for evermore!

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,

Through all our history, to the last

In the hour of darkness and peril and need

The people will vote in every town

“It’s The People’s Seat” will be their creed

That’s the lasting message of Senator Brown.

Paul Revere's Ride

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

---

Listen my children and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, "If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-- One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm." Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street Wanders and watches, with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers, Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade,-- By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town And the moonlight flowing over all…. . So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm,--- A cry of defiance, and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo for evermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere.