He was a man without much skill,
He stood there glaring and if looks could kill
We’d all have perished in the flame,
But one whiff of his stench, we’d be dead all the same.
He’d not come the farthest down the evolutionary path
His knuckles, he dragged and he needed a bath.
I think he was put on the earth to disrupt,
to enrage every saint and his good friends, corrupt.
But though he spreads lies and hatred and fears.
Hopefully, he’ll be gone in just two more years.
Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 09/November/2018