Once there was a great nation
That was accursed by a faction
Of Dark Riders clad in blue.
Their leader was George I.
Their-members cried discrimination
(A most destructive label)
Whenever they were begrudged
What they wanted.
With much time and practice
They were most able
To bend the law of the land
To accomodate
This most accursed fable.
At last the countrymen ,
The Pale Riders,
Were given a most
Competent leader
Named Donald I.
The Dark Riders
Stopped at nothing
In their attempt
To depose him.
They opened a bakery
Where pastries were served
Upon many a colorful table.
The bitter was always
Confused with the sweet
Once having dined there
One was nevermore stable.
One was truly enslaved
By a second sad birth
Having cut the umbilical cable.
One was given a sign
Of total submission
To the dictates of mighty George,
A mask over the mouth
And a stamp upon the hand
And a sundown curfew.
These were all one needed
To fight in the army
That desperately aimed
At deposing Donald.
The bakery was opened
Day and night
Of course.
Happy people never went there.
It was destined to attract
Only the angry, the bitter, the lonely.
Folks say it will never close down.
It will never for good
Lock its door.
It will always appeal
To certain broken of heart
Whose lost mirage
It wrongly promises to restore.
Nice blog
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Thanks. I’m really happy you like it
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