It’s a Whitehouse Garden Party, you are invited, please come, rain or shine,
bring your favorite beer and your finest wine, and your best party smile,
put your worries away, for this one night we will play,
and grill red salmon steaks and eat pretty pumpkin pie and chocolate cake.
Rada’s white house was nicely styled with things of beauty, bright and light,
drenched with Doreen’s art so sublime, canvas after canvas, such a sight,
and we drew names from a hat, names of nonsense to make us laugh,
serenaded by guitar strummin’ men, singing tunes from way back when.
When you later tell this tale, remembering when, once you are frail,
flashing back to that stellar day, your eyes will twinkle as you say,
I partied at the Whitehouse, in style, the one far north in Alaska, my child,
in an alpine flower garden, and we sang and smiled, in the midnight sunshine.