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.
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