Fauci
A fine man of his time, has proper explanation
for our predicament. No good man would look him down even
if they disagreed on face masks. He stayed on the deeply alien Trump land
where fantasy reigned with vehement surge in parallel to the disease.
You may commend him, or reprehend him, nothing affects his mission to
guide us to safety. If praise is needed, he elbows it to the side. To feats of platitude he's a total stranger, speaking with reason next to a phantom of opera and his zeal for wilderness of delirium. Acute is the pandemic and his place in history reserved in the circle of giants, the greatest of our era. In confidence, he's tracking down a virus in its black thundercloud, a light that sheds a modest ray with magnanimous lament. We are bound to him as a teacher and philosopher who learns from immemorial sages and their warm and tranquil nests with bursts of energy on his calm, sweet face that speaks truth to the power of disease, what he foremost relishes is a good vaccine news.
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