Quoth Sarah Palin, "I Want More"

(with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe)

Once upon a Tuesday dreary, while I waited, drained and weary,
Done with speeches, no more crowds to fill my ears with a mighty roar
On the TV, votes were mappin', suddenly there came a tappin'
As of some one gently rappin', rappin' at my hotel-suite door.
"'Tis my subconscious," I muttered, "remindin' me what I adore —
Oh, the limelight. I want more."

Ah, distinctly I remembered it was just this past September,
When Katie Couric's “gotcha!” questions I strove mightily to ignore
What would happen by tomorrow? – if I lost, would I have to go home and borrow
A cup of sugar from my Russian neighbors on the nearby shore?
I didn't want to go all the way back to my obscure Alaskan shore.
I wanted to be famous for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustlin' of each Florida votin' booth curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beatin' of my heart, I stood repeatin',
“'Tis only the bleatin' of the liberal media press corps
The Un-American socialist terror-lovin' press corps
This it is, and nothin' more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitatin' then no longer,
I called the hotel's front desk, and for a plumber to be sent up I did implore;
For I had a cravin' for some clappin', and when I heard the plumber's rappin'
Oh, so faintly he came tappin', tappin' at my deluxe penthouse hotel-suite door,
“I swear I will never raise your taxes,” I told him as I opened wide the door; --
He winked at me, and I wanted more.

And his plunger, red as a mitten, still is sittin', still is sittin'
On the entry table right inside my Wasalia home's front door;
And when I see it, my tears start streamin', for my heart is always dreamin'
Of the time the Joe Sixpacks were beamin' at me, and my life was not such a bore
And my soul from out of the plunger's shadow emerges and declares that bein' without power is such a bore
I miss the limelight – I want more!