Famous Last Words: The Democratic Candidate

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet ’t is early morn:

Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn.

—Tennyson, “Locksley Hall” (1835)

They left them there—but never called them, early or late, upon the morn,

so them no trumpet-sounding summoned,

who’d blithely offered to conform.

They might have used spondaic meter,

but lacked the needed scanning time,

and, finally, could not be bothered—

so long as things would sorta rhyme.

’T was the world, the funny old one they had cherished in their youth,

long, long ago—before they learned the poxy truth:

You can’t win if short of money—a stash of cash is present proof!

The fix is in! It's senseless holding your own little self aloof!

Monday, April 7, 2025