by Arthur Mortensen
As voters trudged through blood and splintered bones,
A doorway to the past began to close.
Electors walked in mud past dripping stones;
A gateway to the future soon would show.
They scorned the ballots cast by screaming men
Who wanted legislatures of the dead.
They would not spit against the wind again,
But hoped to prove the monster finally fled.
Remembering still Palmyra's fall to Rome
They pressed beyond our soldiers' olive drab,
Pausing to drop their ballots in a box.
Outwitting the solitary, dying fox,
They would not settle for a death's cold slab.
Instead, they'd thank the just invader home.