A Short One
A Short One Well, he’s five foot five and he’s barely alive, Just how much longer can he survive, The harsh environment where he used to thrive, Given the results of his current drive? Retreating, conceiting, so many ways deceiting, His armies so often failing at completing. Wasn’t it just days that they were supposed to be defeating? How long before this results in his unseating? When did this man’s intelligence fall benight? Has an illness caused a too early twilight? What is the basis for his rage and despite? Has he seen upon the wall the moving hand to write? Well, he’s just five foot five, and how will he contrive, To continue to control the maddened beehive, That he awoke to attempt to deprive, A sovereign nation’s right to remain alive. Well, he’s just five foot five… Why do we still put up with his jive? Cliff Lake 6/30/2022 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022