’Twas night before Christmas at Mar-a-Lago; guess who’s stirring
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the state,
The temperature had fallen to a muggy seventy-eight.
The residents of Mar-a-Lago were getting a snooze,
All except for Donald, who was watching the news.
On Fox they were saying, Trump was making us great.
So he ate some more ice cream even though it was late.
And then to CNN he turned for affirmation.
But they were still saying he’s ruining the nation.
“I’ll show them, I will,” he yelled, waking his wife.
“I’ll sue them for libel, and ban them for life!”
He reached for his phone, but Melania was quicker.
“Put down that device. It just makes you sicker.
You’ll Tweet something foolish, illegal and telling.
And make at least three more grave errors in spelling.”
“It’s Christmas,” she told him, “time to feel blessed.
Stop with the Diet Cokes, and go get some rest.
Tomorrow you’ll wake up and golf all day through.
I’m the one stuck here with nothing to do.”
Then she turned in a huff, and went back in her quarters.
He thought he might follow, but the woman had borders.
Click went the lock, and his mind took old directions
To pageants with beauties and dressing-room inspections.
But he was president now, and it was time to take measure
Of serious tax cuts that his business friends treasure.
The tax bill’s a windfall for
business friends treasure.
The tax bill’s a windfall for his pass-through LLC
Meaning all the more money for me, me, me, me.
And the stock market’s raging and still no inflation
So why was he not just awash in elation?
The answer, he knew, was abundantly clear,
But who knew that Russia was a nation to fear?
He couldn’t imagine that his life they would pillory,
All for getting Ruskies to help him beat Hillary.
And now, his family, they too would feel scare-ed.
Don Jr., Eric, Ivanka and Jared.
And it made Donald sad to come to this epiphany:
That the only one spared would be the daughter named Tiffany.
He was cursing his fate and about to call Hannity,
A sure sign that he was just losing his sanity.
When out beyond the lawn he heard such a clatter,
He put down his ice cream to see what’s the matter.
The moon on the breast of the St. Augustine grass
Gave the luster of midday to objects that pass.
When what to Trump’s powdered old eyes should appear
But an object that was airborne and suddenly near.
“This is wrong,” he shouted. “Get away from my home!
Don’t you know I live in a big no-fly zone.”
But this was no plane that had gotten off course.
It was Mueller, himself, and his crackerjack force,
With a sled that was pulled by feds steeped in detection
Who were finding out secrets about that election.
More rapid than eagles his investigators they came.
Mueller whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Dreeben, and Weissmann, Quarles and Zelinsky.
On Zebley, Preloger, Rhee, and Dubinsky.”
They had piles of papers and videotaped discussions
About Trump and his finances with unsavory Russians;
His taxes, his lies and Mike Flynn’s confessions.
Now nobody could help Trump, not even Jeff Sessions.
“I’ll fire you,” Trump shouted. “And all of your crew.
Or I’ll pardon myself, yes, that’s what I’ll do.
’Cause I’m the greatest of presidents, even better than Lincoln.
And without me, the U.S. of A would be sinkin’.”
And with that, old Mueller, landed his sleigh on the roof.
“No need to debate, sir. We’ve got so much proof.
But I didn’t come here to chat, to subpoena or gloat.
I’m just here to deliver you a personal note.”
Mueller walked from the sleigh and to Trump’s hand did reach.
“Take the paper, sir. Don’t worry. It’s not time to impeach.
I’m just doing an errand for an old FBI homie.
The guy that you fired, Director Jim Comey.”
Trump unfolded the note and over the words began poring,
Even though reading was something he always found boring.
“Merry Christmas, sir,” it said, “and the miracle season.
For that’s what it’ll take to spare you from treason.”
Mueller jumped back to his sleigh and to his team gave a whistle.
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But Trump heard him exclaim, before he flew out of sight,
“It’s not a coup, Mr. President. It’s doing what’s right.
For men who imagine they have all of the might
Find the rule of law applies, and to all a good night.”