All That Glistens…
The President looked down from the casement
Of his glittering golden GREAT gilded Trump Tower,
The full moons soft saffron suffused glow meant
Don’s Rolex showed he was nearing the witching hour.
Tonight the moon seems full, of dark portent,
Tonight Don is as quiet and shy as a wall-flower,
Tonight its rich unadulterated light has lent
A blood-moon cast to his petulant glower.
Oh, how it pains this peach-of-a-President
To find Captain ‘Merica’s lost his superpower
As well as losing that sweet smell of victory scent,
Since he parleyed with Putin that’s started to sour.
In the FAKE photos Don sees it, and it is all too evident;
‘Neath a fake tan lies a sad whey-faced sack of
How he regrets Moscow and the time there ill-spent,
In the moons glow the tears flow, a regular golden shower.