Barack Obama (may his donors increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace
And saw by the heavenly light in his room
Making him rich like a banker in bloom
An angel writing in a checkbook of gold.
Big poll numbers now made Obama bold
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What do you write?" The angel raised his head
And with a smile of sweet political grease
Answered, "The names of those who love the peace."
"And is mine one?" Asked Barack. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Barack spoke more low.
But cheerily still: and said, "I pray thee, then,
List me as one who loves his fellow men."
The Angel wrote, and vanished into the night.
He swooped in on Clinton a-doze in her limo.
"Am I the one?" she asked. The angel replied,
"It might be so." Then on to Edwards, a man aglow.
"Will the verdict be mine?" he hopefully implied.
"I am off to see Biden," the angel replied.
That night the angel saw Richardson and all the rest.
Then toted up the sums to see who was best.
That next night the angel swooped down on Obama
And showed the names whom the donors had blessed.
And, lo! Obama’s numbers led all the rest!
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