T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, ‘cept Ron Paul, the mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In case that Newt Gingrich decided to share.
The media was tucked away in their beds,
Convinced that Rick Perry was struggling with meds,
That Bachman and Huntsman would not matter much,
That Mitt Romney would win before they had lunch.
Suddenly outside their arose such a noise,
From Ankeny, Davenport, Ames and Des Moines.
I threw open the window to look out below,
The whole state of Iowa was buried in snow.
The yard signs were sprouting and spreading it’s true,
The color was clearly an ocean of blue.
No Bachman, no Perry, no Gingrich in sight,
Only the mouse, Ron Paul, ruled the night.
The Democrats now were alert and awake,
“Give us our Santa. Give or we’ll take.”
The business elites were running about,
Ordering the journalists to yell and to shout.
“No one can touch our Federal Reserve,
“We couldn’t print money, imagine the nerve?”
But January three came and it went,
And all of the money that Romney had spent,
And all of the words that the pundits had spun,
Could not stop the mouse, Ron Paul, who had won.
And so I remember his words on that day,
The wave of his hand, like Gandalf the Grey,
We heard him exclaim to one and to all,
“Merry Christmas, God Bless you and thanks from Ron Paul.”