Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Political Poetry Entry 1

Don Brash by Greg Stephens

Don slowly arose,

With a comb in hand,

To strike up a pose,

To face the land.

Gerry walked in

He showed Don the poll,

That had National at the mini

Since that fateful roll.

Don started to cry,

Just as Helen walked passed,

He tried to be sly,

But he could not last.

He cried to Helen,

‘How are you popular?’,

She smiled while eating a melon,

And said ‘Don you are in dire’.

Don wiped away a tear,

Only to find,

The media glare,

Looking through the blind.

Don looked at himself,

Saw his combover undone,

Wished he was an elf,

And proclaimed himself dumb.

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