'Twas the Year Twenty-Sixteen

Before you continue reading, I feel I should give fair warning that this is not a "happy" post.  While based on "A Visit from St. Nicholas", (aka " 'Twas the Night Before Christmas"),  by Clement Clarke Moore, this post is filled with darker undertones, and is a bit abstract at times.

Also, I try to give equal time to all, though sometimes it's not possible.  So while I've named a few names in the lines of this verse, please note that I wanted to include more; it just didn't work to my advantage in some cases.

With all that said, the following is my skewed look back at the year 2016.

'TWAS THE YEAR TWENTY-SIXTEEN

Of the year twenty-sixteen there's plenty to grouse,

Including a new president for the White House.

Supporters were happy; the rest in despair,

Of the man with orange skin and really bad hair.

Trump wasn't the only thing there was to dread;

So much violence, people ending up dead.

Shootings, bombings and all kinds of scary crap;

All this, and more, the nightly news had on tap.

Protesters protesting for things they felt mattered.

Marching through the streets, creating quite a clatter.

Though most wanted peace, some with police clashed.

So much tension, no wonder their tempers flashed.

Yet that still wasn't the end, wouldn't you know;

Intolerance and hatred among us did grow.

Always underlying, it rose up this year,

Rearing its ugly head, and making itself clear.

Choose any minority, go on, take your pick;

All came under attack, making others feel sick.

The bigotry of some, made others feel shame.

Yet those causing the problem would not take the blame.

All the emotions, the good and bad were mixin'.

The only sure thing was problems needed fixin'.

Our country had stumbled, had taken a great fall.

The year seemed destined to destroy one and all.

If that wasn't enough to make one cry,

So many icons in twenty-sixteen did die.

Bowie, Michael, Fisher and Prince were a few.

Beloved Willy Wonka, Gene Wilder, left us too.

Talk of Abe Vigoda's death was always a goof;

But twenty-sixteen dealt us all the stark truth.

Best known as "Fish", Abe is no longer around.

Only in reruns of "Barney Miller" he's found.

Glenn Frey with The Eagles was always very good.

Florence Henderson and Doris Roberts both would,

Leave this world for heaven, and never come back.

No longer moms for Raymond, or the Brady Bunch pack.

Seems for the most part twenty-sixteen's been quite hairy.

Maybe what this world needs is a good dose of fairy

Magic to put a halt to this mad, mad show.

What?  You don't believe? Come on, just give it a go.

Maybe, just maybe, if there's enough belief,

We can come together, and start healing the grief,

That's deeper than the underside of a snake's belly.

From corporations to the neighborhood deli,

Let's rally together; take our pride off the shelf.

Plant seeds of happiness and start spreading the wealth.

Twenty-seventeen is a rough road to tread;

Let's lead with kindness, and hope for less bloodshed.

It won't be easy; it's a lot of hard work.

But for all who try, the world has one less jerk.

So now that you're done reading my bit of prose,

Think good thoughts, but stay alert, on your toes.

'Cause next year may come with a nuclear missile,

Eradicating us all, clean as a whistle.

If this little ditty has given you a fright,

There IS hope for next year, when this one's out of sight.

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