Just in from an anonymous source in the Church Office Building who copied notes Elder Holland absentmindedly left behind in the mens' room in the Church Office Building:

'Twas the night before General Conference, when among all GA's
Every one craved the vacant apostleship preening with praise
Their garments were washed and ironed with care,
In hopes that dear Thomas soon would declare;
Them to be nestled all snug in Perry or Packer's steads;
While visions of second anointings danced in their heads;
And Dallin with his legal brief, and I in my temple cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long conference nap,
When outside of my office there arose such a chatter,
Kate Kelly's Ordain Women dot org were demanding to matter.
Away to the window I flew like a big dodo,
Tore it open and hunched over like Quasimodo.
Like a goon on the moon on I began to bellow,
Flapping my jowls as a righteously angry Danite fellow,
When what to my swollen baggy eyes did appear,
But the resurrected Elder Packer out of he closet and q__r,(banned word but rhymes with beer)
With a twinkle in his eye so lively and quick,
Swaggering his newfound Supreme Court SSM schtick,
He whistled, and shouted, and called out his brethren by name:
"Now, Dallin! now, Dieter! now Russell and Jeffrey!
On, Quenton! on, David! on, Neil and Richard G.!
On to the temple! to the top of the Moroni!
Now blast away! dash away all that bigotry and baloney!"
As our embarrassing history before Twitter and Facebook fly,
Embrace public relations, social media and the Internet or die;
So up to the rameumptum the apostle wannabees flew
With the resumes full of noise and financial success too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
T'was Tommy prancing and pawing, bellowing a whoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the staircase Robert Kirby came with a bound.
He was dressed all in polyester, from his head to his foot,
And his Mr. Mac two-for-one suits were all so caput;
A bundle of church jokes he had loaded for smack,
And he looked like Pat Bagley cartooning a wise crack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was pure white a la Lorenzo;
The stub of a rolled up SLTrib he held tight in his teeth,
The spirit of satire and parody encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a plump full face for such a mischievous odd fellow
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of Jell-O.
He was a studied ol' chump, some thought full of himself,
And I loud-laughed with him, in spite of my solemn old myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Filling all the teleprompters with his editorial smirk,
While laying his middle finger aside of his ears,
They began to wiggle, even Monson gave cheers;
Kirby sprang to his feet, like ancient Paul delivered an epistle,
All cried, all laughed in relief, only Dallin demanded dismissal.
And I heard him exclaim, "Being the newest GA is so out of sight— General Conference is now cancelled so to all a good night!”