It’s Sarah, for better or for verse
In Sarah-land so far away, where polar bears and tankers roam,
It doesn’t matter where you’re from—a palace or a mobile home.
They have their way of doing things, it’s not like any other state,
In Sarah-land the rules are diff’rent from the Lower 48.
In Sarah-land they dream the dream, and anyone can be a star,
In Sarah-land the kids are props (at least when Mom decides they are).
Except from some designer clothes, they’re sturdy, brave and humble folk,
And woe betide the late-night host who offers up a tasteless joke.
In Sarah-land the Nerdy Boys are taken by a winning smile,
They check their brain cells at the door and tumble to a leggy style.
It’s clear as Kristol how enthralled a pundit or a scribe can be,
And cheaper than Viagra—perfect booty for the GOP!
In Sarah-land they’re hours behind so no one bothers with the news,
Which works just fine—as long as you avoid those network interviews.
In Sarah-land the language soars, the rhetoric takes off on wings,
It’s not exactly English, but how nice to be “progressing” things!
In Sarah-land a controversy blossoms nearly every day,
In Sarah-land it’s rotten luck to find you look like Tina Fey.
In Sarah-land it’s fine to have a musher as your loving spouse—
But better not to make too much of seeing Russia from your house.
In Sarah-land the temps are low and people just get used to it,
When it gets hot in Sarah-land, they grin and give a speech—and quit.
They Twitter ev’ry random thought to stunned supporters far and wide,
They say the only way to get it done is do it from “outside.”
In Sarah-land when things get tough, the tough get going—off the stage,
They read their lines, they fold their tents, they say it’s time to turn the page.
They leave their posts, the job undone, to polish up their résumés,
It’s not defeat, it’s not retreat—they still have dreams of better days.
So bid farewell to Sarah-land, where stars can shine or flicker out,
And bid farewell to Sarah P., who harbors not the slightest doubt:
They’re wrong, she’s right, she’ll rise again, and lifts her eyes to God in prayer,
The Lord works in surprising ways—but she’s not going anywhere.
Rick Horowitz is a syndicated columnist. You can write to him at firstname.lastname@example.org.