Twas the evening before Romney and all through the house,
Not a Democrat was stirring not even a mouse.
The donations were hung, with Paul Ryan with care,
with hopes of St. Eastwood, soon would be there.
The Paulites were there, all snug in their beds,
With visions of Gold Standards dancing in their head.
When, out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I dropped my birth certificate to see what was the matter.
Away to my phone I threw down the notification alert toolbar,
Tore up the texts and twitter that mattered.
With little McCain and Eastwood ao quick,
I knew in an instant it must be St. Mitt!
More to come,