Twas the night before ‘lection, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring apart from a louse.
The banners were hung from the window with care,
In hopes that St Corbyn soon would be there.
The MP’s were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Brexit danced in their heads.
And Boris in his kerchief, and I in his lap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out in Westminster there arose such a clatter,
The peasants were revolting, said the mad hatter.
Away to the window, I flew like a flash,
And Saw Boris the buffoon hide in the trash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen Bo,
Shone like a beacon to the madmen below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lithy and thin,
I knew in a moment it must be Corbyn.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them rude names!
“Now, Swinson! now, Johnson! now, Sadiq and Pincher!
On, Priti! On, Javid! on, Farage and Duddridge!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Corbyn came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of flags he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like golf balls, his nose like sweet sherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
He was grubby, a chump, a right silly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Handed out leaflets, then turned with a jerk.
He introduced Gove with a tap of the nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy ‘lection to all, and to all a good-night!”
Lisa Baker for Pf Magazine