It’s been a week, I know, but take a breath.
Just three more days remain ’til dusty death!
If you’re depressed about the mess
The country’s in, take heart: It’s less
Than Scotland suffered under King Macbeth!
My president is nothing like the sun:
He’s far from bright, though shadows does he cast;
If truth is beauty, he’s an ugly one;
If beards be lies, he wears out razors fast.
I have seen some whom I with pride called chief,
But all the Sins he’s so monopolized
That one who would offend must be a thief;
If there be Pride to spare, I’d be surprised.
I need not read his tweets, for well I know
That talking heads will tell me what I’ve missed;
I grant I’ve never seen a tyrant go
Without a push; ergo, I shall resist.
I don’t despair for where my country went;
I know it’s there, behind my president.
Yoda Shakespeare on the Fourth of May:
“With Force, be or not be…there is no May.”
My pets don’t believe in me.
I am; they’re unconvinced it’s true.
Did Shakespeare have a cat? Did he
Encounter skpetsticism, too?
You ask, To be, or not to be?
When housepets don’t believe in you.
One ide all by itself is fine
But if you’re offered two, decline.
Early to rise and yet still sleeping in
A not-awful way, I suppose, to begin
Winter weather threatens leaks
In unprotected frozen plumbing;
Also poem-posting streaks
If wi-fi fails. In case that’s coming
I’ll pend this for just before
The stroke of twelve tomorrow night.
I may be weak, infirm and poor
As Lear, yet hear me, storm: I’ll write!
Postscript: Nothing went awry
Inside, as far as I can tell.
The snowy roofs blend into sky
But kept the cold out fairly well.
No ice collapsed our power grid,
No fallen limbs eclipsed our light.
I can’t recall when last we did
Less everything through Sunday night!
We’re safe and warm, so that’s all right.