Drumpfstruck: an ABC for the 2020 Election Cycle

     Intro 
Stille Nacht? Don't breathe a word?
Don't give the game away?
Say nada? Don't tell Uncle?
Keep it under your beret?

Don't let the cat out of the bag?
That stuff is for the birds.
I'm here to say (with no cliché):
I've got a way with words.

     Verses 
I’m quick to quote an anecdote.
With bromides I’m most facile.
"To coin a phrai"? My métier.
A dictum? Hey! No hassle!

I’ve ghosted loads of episodes.

I’m feeble sans a fable.
At home with ev’ry gnome. 
To hatch a hapax? Not unable.

Fresh insights? Yea! Just out today.

I live to tell a joke.
My koans tease. And, if it please,
for legends, I’m your bloke.

I’ll match my mots with any's myth.

My narratives stand peerless.
My omens are…well, 'omen'ous.
With proverbs I’m felt fearless.

To quip’s my game, my claim to fame.

Romance? My stock in trade.
(Which tongue’s my saga? Onondaga.) 
Tales? A fusillade.

I’m no one’s dunce with utterance.

With verbiage I’m rife.
Most nits insist my witticisms
prick ‘em like a knife.

My axioms, x-rated though they be,

yield “puro d’or.”
The yarns I field yield zingers,
leaving rivals on the floor.

     Outro 
I’ve epithets and commonplaces,

sayings, apercus.
I’ve apophthegms and adages.
(Some aphorisms, too.)

I’m thick with theses. Mad for maxims.

Saws? I’ll not say ‘Nay!”
But if this gent stays President,
I’ll not know what to say.