With sincere apologies to William Blake and to a well-remembered English teacher whose passion for “The Tyger” was contagious. [Edit: And to several readers who thought this posting was weird: Yeah. It is.]
Donald Donald, breeding blight,
In the House that once was White,
What indifferent shrug or sigh,
Could frame thy imbecility?
In what batch of ballots past,
Were such callous choices cast?
On what skills dared we depend?
What sad life, kept prospects pinned?
And what hubris, & what guile,
Could twist the truth for reasons vile?
And when thy hand began to tweet,
What ill will didst thou entreat?
What the venom, cold and crass,
Thin skin shedding in the grass?
What the skulking hiss we hear,
Strangled and benumbed from fear!
With forty-four who came before,
Diminished by an oafish boor:
Shown thy soul, did we not see?
Did we who chose such men choose thee?
Donald Donald, breeding blight,
In the House that once was White,
May the time be drawing nigh,
To tame thy imbecility?