Remember when presidential campaigns of yore
Differed from this one on substance and issues.
But then, who can forget the year of Bush v. Gore,
Without reaching for a box of Kleenex tissues?
Candidates no longer speak as real men fighting on,
Day after day, wherever, out on the stump,
Pumping arms, beaming smiles in rain or sun,
Never daring to admit they might be in a slump.
You cannot count on them to come nobly through,
When their campaign starts slinging slander and lies
On political stuff they never did or even knew.
Campaigners past rarely dared tarnish the prize,
The one they sought in the vote you’d cast.
Flip-flops on issues and lies on what’s essential
Would smote them dumb, as if aghast,
For who’d vote for a liar so unpresidential?
A political party changes the tune this forlorn year,
Marked out of every four as a presidential campaign,
Blackened by attacks, lies flipped from downdeep fear
Oozing from the Republican Twain of Legerdemain.
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