by Rick Young | Jul 8, 2020 | Poem
With it’s news of airborne COVID spread,
Horton knows he’s notching up more dead.
“A person’s a person no matter how small,”
but estimates say he can’t kill them all.
The WHO was not perfect, we all have our flaws.
But that’s not allowed in the quirk of his laws.
It’s all been a hoax which the WHO perpetrated,
said Horton to those who he secretly hated.
A death count’s a death count, but let it be small.
He really sees no use for numbers at all.
by Rick Young | Jul 8, 2020 | Poem
He’s putting out a bounty on the bounty story leaker.
He’ll fill him up with Chlorox, pour it down him by the beaker.
He hasn’t said a word to Putin, playing Don the Meeker.
But his base is eroding, maybe even mister speaker.
I dream the day Pelosi will just shred him by her laugh,
when Shifty Schiff steps up to cut the big red tie in half.
And how about when Chuckles Schumer steps up to the mike,
screams, “Who’s hungry?”, unveils T’s cheese head upon a pike.
