A ditty for our times to be sung to the melody of “On the Street Where You Live” by Frederick Loewe
I have often gone to the polls before,
But the choices in the offing all had souls before.
All at once do I feel the urge to cry
Knowing Trump has a shot and could win.
There are folks out there who admire the man,
Even though it’s selfish motives that inspire the man.
With each lie his nose, grows and grows and grows.
Nonetheless, there’s a chance he could win.
And oh, the sickening feeling
Just to know that Clinton could lose.
The overpowering feeling
That in December I may sail to Veracruz.
Thinking ill of him’s not a sin we’re told,
Since he lacks the moral compass of a ten-day-old.
So compose a tweet urging his retreat
To the swamp where he skulks with his kin.
© 2016 Ron Dulaney