With special thanks to Walt Whitman’s “Oh Captain My Captain!” and Dylan Thomas’s “Do not go gentle into that good night”
 

O Bama! My Bama!

O Bama! my Bama! the campaign trail is done,
The team has weather’d every attack, the prize we sought is won,
The vote is near, nomination here, the people all exulting,
While in your eyes, steady and real, the message bright and daring;
But O hope! hope! hope!
O the bleeding hearts of Dems,
Where on the stage my Bama lies,
His words and Hillary’s the same.

O Bama! my Bama! Rise up and hear the cheers;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—at you Obamagirl leers,
For you signs made and buttons worn—for you the room way crowded
For you they call, the Gap-clad mass, their oily faces turning;
Here Bama! rare leader!
This check made in your name!
It must be a bad dream that on the stage,
Your words and hers the same.

My Bama drones his answer, his eyes are weary and still;
My leader does not feel my alarm, he seems to have lost his will;
The vote is settled unsafe and unsound, polling places closed and done,
From power trip Hillary Clinton’s ship comes in with object won;
Exult, O crowds, and post, O bloggers,
But all my hope is maimed,
On the stage my Bama lies,
His words and hers the same.
 

Do not go gentle from the campaign fight

Do not go gentle from the campaign fight,
Clear loss should flail and rant by end of May
Rage, rage against the ending of your plight.

Though wise women near defeat know concession is right,
Because their votes had won few delegates they
Will not go gentle from the campaign fight.

Good women, they click-clack by, crying how right
Their voice might have been found in a green state,
Rage, rage against the ending of your plight.

Proud women who bought and sold the Senate’s might,
And learn, too late, they reinforced its ways,
Do not go gentle from the campaign fight.

Grave women, near loss, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could flame like Elton John and be gay,
Rage, rage against the ending of your plight.

And you, former first lady, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fake tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle from the campaign fight
Rage, rage against the ending of your plight.