Dem
51
GOP
49
The last two days have featured potshots at Herschel Walker. It seems to us that the fellow who actually won that race, Sen. Raphael Warnock (D-GA), should get his due as well. And so, on that point, here's a slight adaptation to a passage from the epic poem Beowulf (Seamus Heaney translation), courtesy of K.H. in Albuquerque, NM:
Then as dawn brightened and the day broke
Warnock's powers of destruction were plain:
Their wassail was over, they wept to heaven
And mourned under morning. Their mighty prince,
The storied leader, sat stricken and helpless,
Humiliated by the loss of his running back.
A limerick from S.T. in Glen Rock, NJ:
There once was a priest named Warnock
The key to a Georgia win, he did unlock
It helped that Walker
Was not a great talker.
As to his presidential ambitions, up rose his stock
And another limerick, from D.S. in Fairport, NY:
I ran to respond to a door knock.
Who was it, but Raphael Warnock,
No werewolf is he
Instead, sanity
While Herschel's head's taking on more rock.
The poems will return next week. Here is the e-mail address for submissions if you are struck by inspiration. (Z)