'Twas the Night Before Session

Santa Culver has been making the rounds delivering the following email to folks. Just in case you have not seen it yet, here you go.

'Twas the night before session, when all through the House
Not a member was stirring, no one there to grouse.

The portraits were hung in the rotunda with care,
In hope that new money soon would be there;

The lobbyists were nestled all snug on their benches
While visions of budget cuts sent their stomach in wrenches,

And Murphy in his speaker's perch, and I in the gallery,
Had just settled down, to again raise his salary.

When in the Capitol basement, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.

Down the spiral staircase I flew like a flash,
Tore open the door to see Governor Culver, without any cash.

A frown on the face and a furrowed brow,
The Governor is thinking, "What to do now?"

On top of this, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
The REC with a new bad forecast near.

With a little old accountant, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment which route the governor would pick.

As the numbers were dim, and shortfalls abound
The Governor says, "We must raise taxes, all around!"

"Now, Murphy! Now, McCarthy! Now Gronstal and Kibbie!
On Paulsen! On Upmeyer! On, Kettering and McKinley!

To the Senate and House! Inside the chamber wall!
Despite what I've said, we should raise taxes on all!"

The Governor demands it, the legislators sigh,
They meet with dark forecasts, fearing the end is nigh.

So up to the chamber they flew,
Armed with new tax bills, wondering what to do.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the lobby,
"They're spending money as if it's their hobby!"

As I grabbed my wallet and was turning around,
Up from the basement the Governor came with a bound.

He was dressed to the nines, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished from lobbyists taking root.

A bundle of new bills he carried on his back,
And he looked like a beggar, opening his sack.

His eyes – how they sparkled, with new taxes born,
"How to keep up with spending?" he shouted, forlorn.

His droll little mouth quivered as the votes drew near,
In his eye, while it twinkled, he mounted a tear.

With fierce determination, he gritted his teeth,
Knowing higher taxes lied beneath.

He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, but often a grump,
Despite his actions while on the stump.

I watched with wonder, as the votes drew nigh,
Seeing all these new taxes made me want to cry.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Spending more money, then turned with a jerk,

And laying a finger aside of his budget,
Taking great care not to smudge it.

And giving a nod, down the staircase he descended,
Admitting there was no money – and no way to spend it.

He slumped to his office, the legislators gave a whistle,
Noting the Register had gave him a "Thistle."

But I heard him exclaim, ere he hid, out of sight,
"I'll raise taxes on all, to get my budget right!"