When I was seven I chanced upon a blacksnake and a toad. Jaws agape, the large blacksnake slowly worked his way up behind the still and unblinking toad. The toad, as hypnotized as I, never moved, even as it slowly disappeared into the snake, never made the slightest effort to get away. Many years later I again experienced the blacksnake and the toad episode, in the form of the American Left and the unblinking, unresisting population that allowed itself to be ingested into the snake.
Henry Wallace, former Secretary of Agriculture and a not so secret Stalinist in FDR’s employ, ran for president in 1948, his campaign managed Senator George McGovern, who twenty years later would capture the Democratic Party during the turmoil of the Vietnam War and turn the Party violently to the Left. McGovern lost to Nixon, who won 49 states, but Watergate propelled a new class of rabidly left Democrats into the House of Representatives, and the radical left has retained control of the Democratic Party ever since, with predictable results. The Progressive blacksnake has swallowed the toad, and even if we kill the snake, as I did when I was seven, when I came out of my snake-hypnotized state and grabbed him by the tail and smashed him with all my seven year old might against a telephone pole, the toad was still dead.
The serpent in our midst is oft a mirror of ourselves
A neighbor or a colleague, or a friend of many years
But history is useless if just books upon the shelves
As serpents play upon our many fears
The leftist is beguiling with his gleaming scaly skin
His red forked tongue quick darting from his smiling arrowed head
He says he has the answers to the troubles that we’re in
And smiles in knowing all the lies we’re fed
The snake is often charming, often handsome, even fun
His stock in trade convincing you your life is a mistake
That only he can make the oceans rise and rivers run
But lift the curtain and he’s still a snake