The Tragedy of President Nixon
'For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings*
By flu or common cold or treach'rous reason
O sacred blood, spoil'd by these nasty things
With sharpen'd points in envy hands of treason
High stomac'd are my foes, and full of ire!
Alas, my friends, it is the hunting season
In rage deaf of my plea, hasty on fire
I hear the Congress' howling, barking sound!
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd and baffled here
Purc'd to the soul with slanders venom'd spear!'
*The tragedy of king Richard the second; act III, scene
This form is an 'eleven'. See my other poem 'Image'.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
