In the Oval Office, a throne of power,
Sits a man, past his prime hour.
His words, like diapers, full of mess,
A pungent stench, a foul distress.
He rants and raves, a Twitter storm,
His mind, a diaper, twisted and torn.
He spews his filth, a toxic rain,
Soaking the land, leaving a stain.
His followers, like flies, drawn to the mess,
Lap up his words, a sweet caress.
They don't see the stench, the hidden rot,
Just the power, the leader they've got.
But the stench lingers, a foul reminder,
Of a leader lost, his mind a confiner.
A diaper full of hate and fear,
A toxic legacy, drawing near.