Trump at the Bat

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the USA that day;
The mighty Trump had ruled too long with his pomp and sway.
When Hillary died in 2016 and Sanders did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the country of our name.

A struggling few got up to in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope that springs in the human breast;
They thought if only Biden could throw him out
we would finally get some rest.

But McConnell preceded Donald, as did William Barr,
The former was a lulu the latter was a tool,
So upon the stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance that The Donald wouldn’t get to rule.

From seventy million throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
it rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell.
it knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
for Trump, the mighty Donald was taking America back.

There was ease in Trump’s manner as he stepped into his place;
there was pride in Donald’s bearing and a smile on his orange face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his MEGA hat,
no stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas Donald would twist the facts.

“Fraud!” cried the maddened millions, and Echo answered fraud;
but one scornful look from Trump and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
and they knew that Trump wouldn’t let this election get away.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
the band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
and somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
but there is no joy in MAGA-land — the mighty Donald has struck out.

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