The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
But St. Nicholas was in quarantine, so he would never be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
But they couldn't get nightmares of vaccines out of their heads;
And mamma behind her plexiglass, and I in my N95 mask,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my 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 a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a very long bus and eight tiny socialists with lots of campaign gear,
The tired old man in charge wasn't very quick,
So I knew in a moment that he wasn't St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Pelosi! now, Schumer! now Kamala the Vixen!
On, Buttigieg! on, Klobuchar! on, Maddow and Wolf Blitzer!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!