One drummer's drumbeat

He was a poet, this Minnesota senator so bold,

And long a politician before war got in his way.

What to do but march off alone into the dark and cold?

That acerbic wit fit his Irish heritage mold.

His words a sword, a mighty dragon he did slay.

And yet he was a poet and thus inclined to be bold.

Slushing through New Hampshire’s snow, he sold

Enough people to vote for the words he had no choice but to say.

Thank god he marched off alone into that dark winter’s cold.

Alone, recall, he faced LBJ; he Irish and so truth to power told,

Showing that the president had a heart, as well as feet, of clay.

Still, remember, he was a poet and honor bound to be bold.

The nation’s young, their hearts he did hold.

Drawn by his demand that they rise up and seize the day,

Yet at the start, he walked alone in the dark and cold.

He told a nation what it had to be told:

Vietnam was a bad war, as it developed in his day.

Eugene McCarthy, that poet, forced himself to be bold.

And it was alone that he first marched off into the dark and cold.

— ken stern