Paris, city of romance, where the joys of spring wither in an old mans heart.

Don leaves the Paris Agreement, a true denier,
Another hope for change heaped on the bonfire,
Lets dredge up the oil, slash back the clean and green,
it’s back to the future time for Don in twenty seventeen.

When it came to Paris Don decided the Accord
Was a lot of hot air his Great State couldn’t afford,
After a little thought one conclusion was easy to find;
Don chose to close his ears, his eyes and his tiny mind.

In the Rose Garden his retorts and reports did resound,
The perfect setting for a crowd with heads in the ground,
Airy assurances won’t dispel those odious White house gasses,
Three years on let’s hope his painful flatu- oops, petulance passes.


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