Little Boy Orange, a weird little guy,
With a frown on his face, he found himself in a strange place.
When he would bitch and whine, his followers dropped in line,
For a woman named Harris made him shiver every time.
Little Boy Orange sat full of scorn, on his shit covered throne
She was a Democratic hero, all he was, was a worn-out zero,
He compared himself to Nero and looked up to autocratic rulers.
Now his polling numbers are meager, his future’s unclear.
Little Boy Orange, his dreams in decay,
His castle of bluster, now crumbling away.
In shadows he brooded, his temper did flare,
As the nation around him breathed a collective despair.
He raged against Harris, though it was futile,
Her strength was unwavering, her stance was so vital.
In the mirror, he saw just a ghost of his past,
A leader of spectacle, whose moment could not last.
His followers scattered, like leaves in the wind,
Their loyalty fickle, his power growing thin.
The cries of the nation grew louder each day,
For a change in the landscape, a more hopeful way.
Little Boy Orange, his reign now a jest,
A chapter in history, where he failed the test.
He faded from headlines, a shadow now cast,
A relic of ego, a lesson from the past.