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๐€ ๐ƒ๐ข๐ฌ๐œ๐š๐ซ๐๐ž๐ ๐ˆ๐ง๐š๐ฎ๐ ๐ฎ๐ซ๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐ƒ๐š๐ฒ ๐’๐จ๐ง๐ง๐ž๐ญ

In praise of Joe this poem I have writ.
But Iโ€™ll not mention any of his flaws โ€”
His hair-sniffing, his groping, all that shit;
His keen support for all those foreign wars.
I love him, for heโ€™s opened many doors
For me, a budding poet laureate.
Oh I know old Joe farts โ€” at times he snores;
But heโ€™ll be dead before long โ€” you can bet
Your house on that. Still, let us not regret
Selecting this frail, barely conscious guy
To lead our fast decaying nation โ€” let
Him show the way as all the old ways die.

Iโ€™ll start again and throw this in the bin.
Iโ€™ll write some whiny waffle โ€” that should win!

โ€” D.N. Oโ€™Brien