They say our president has stuck
Above his good wife's door
The sign provocative of luck—
A horseshoe—nothing more.
Be hushed, O party hates, the while
That emblem lingers there,
And thou, dear fates, propitious smile
Upon the wedded pair.
I've tried the horseshoe's weird intent
And felt its potent joy—
God bless you, Mr. President,
And may it be a boy.