QUOTH THE RAVEN, " '74."

Once upon a midnight dreary, while Bush pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of Cheney’s weapons’ lore--
While he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the White House door.
"'Tis some visitor," Bush muttered, "tapping at the White House door--
Only this and nothing more."

Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said he, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at the White House door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here Bush opened wide the door--
Vietnam there and nothing more.

Deep into Saigon peering, long he stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams he had not dreamed since 1974;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “1974?"
This Bush whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "’74!"--
Merely Vietnam and nothing more.

Back into the White House turning, all his old fears start returning,
Soon again he heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at the White House door;
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis Vietnam and nothing more.”

Open here he flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of 1974.
Bush said, “Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "‘74."

And the Raven, sitting lonely on Lincoln’s bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--
Till Bush scarcely more than muttered: "Other soldiers were lost before--
On the morrow it will leave me, as it left me once before."
Then the bird said "‘74."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said Bush, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy blogger -
It soon will leave and speak no more
of blood and war and ‘74.

Bush soon betook himself to thinking
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “‘74.”

This he sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into his bosom's core
"Wretch," Bush cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee--
Give me rest and leave me from these memories - these memories of ‘74!”
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Prophet!" said he, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
Is there--is there hope for me in 2004? --tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "‘74."

"Be that our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" Bush shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and to Saigon’s bloody shore!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!–leave the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "‘74."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Adams just above the White House door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;
And Bush’s soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!