Stephen Horn: “Twas the night before Tax Day, When all through the land, Not a creature was stirring, Not a soul was on hand. But the…”

“Twas the night before Tax Day, When all through the land, Not a creature was stirring, Not a soul was on hand. But the tax forms were hung by the doors with great fear; In hopes that the Democrats wouldn't come near. The taxpayers were cowering, hiding under their beds, While visions of "tax and pretend" Democrats danced in their heads. And Mama with her 1040's, and I with my pen, Were waiting with our wallets to be cleaned out again. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash, not the cash. The moon shown down with a strange, eerie glow, Giving luster to the broken tax promises strewn out below. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a Democratic Congress and their tax collecteers. With a jolly-faced driver and his tax bags to fill, I knew in a moment it must be Saint Bill. More rapid than eagles the collectors they came, While the Democrats whistled and called them by name: "On Increased Spending." "On Retroactivity." "On Middle Class Poverty…”