‘Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a treaty was stirring, not even New START.
The speeches were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that some amendments soon would be there;
The Senators were nestled all snug in their rooms,
While smells of jet fuel danced in their heads.
When out on the plaza there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an adjournment resolution, and eight tiny taxis,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Reid.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Kyl! now McCain! now, Kerry and Lugar!
On, Casey! on Cardin! on, DeMint and Wicker!”
To the top of the Senate! to the top of the Capitol!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-recess.”
With apologies to the original authors and for the poor rhyming.
