In a large, nearby tree, I hear, late of a sleepless night, a lone mockingbird, singing his heart out, for what I do not know. He is occasionally answered by someone whose call he has just run through, though the answerer always seems a bit annoyed at being wakened at such an hour. That Mockingbird reminds me a bit of Carl Rove and his little whiteboard full of abstract numbers that purport to tell, in numbers and his mocking voice, how he and other members of the Republican establishment intend to keep their comfortable little game going by denying the nomination, by fair means or foul, to an unburdened outsider like Donald Trump, even if by doing so they elect a Democrat. It is all the same to them if the president is a Republican or Democrat, for their only concern is the continuation of the golden game of money and power, and it is their deathly concern that with a President Trump they will lose them both.

Pale moonlight was enough to see
When into sight he hove
And settled lightly in the tree
The Mockingbird, Carl Rove
High in the tree he sings his song
The darkness is his friend
He sings to all to come along
To see this campaign end
Without a nominee in place
Before convention start
For that is where we start the race
And you can do your part
Don’t vote for Trump and we will see
A contest on the floor
Where all the delegates are free
To vote through ballot four
And at which time we’ll call the name
Of whom we want to run
And thus extinguish that Trump flame
And ruin all their fun
We know the Party we will be wreck
But we will come back strong
Another Dem but what the heck
Can possibly go wrong

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