I.
Comes
word you've ne'er heard of the house built of
wheat.
Pols and
pundits who have even call it The
Wheat House.
Its
tenant's a liar, a psycho, a
cheat,
a mo-
lester of women -- in short, a com-
plete louse.
II.
He
herds his "good words" into long-winded
tweet-
storms he
Twitters most morns from the bowels of The
Wheat House.
Thrice
wedded, he's pull'd an espousal "three-
peat,"
though each
bride "Blondel" beds proves but one more ef-
fete spouse.
III.
Yet
sleepers awake! Patr'ots take to the
street
to pro-
test this tycoon -- nay: tyrant -- of The
Wheat House.
Him
(guilty as sin) they'll soon rightly un-
seat --
less a
man [plus his kin!] than a now-obso-
lete mouse.
IV.
Let's
do it! (A Weatherman's victory
sweet.)
Ah-h-h-h...but
how...? Must we now this wimp's fam'ly with
sleet dowse...?
Or
hang his whole gang -- cronies, kids -- by their
feet...
...and dis-
play 'em across the South Lawn of the
Wheat House...?
(More of "The Wheat House" --
including an image -- to come:
a work in progress.)
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