‘Twould be wrong to say that he’s got no nerve,
this Individual One.
He’s giving his stars what his stars deserve,
both barrels trained at the sun!
But they love him in France (or so decree
the conceits his mind hath spun) -
from mustard sellers in gay Paree
to the gravekeeper at Verdun.
Some grandniece of Piaf has sounded his praise,
and now her song is sung
by masses incensed with “Macron’s malaise.”
But this only seems far flung!
No, the Fake News Media can’t get it right
and spare him any fun
by allowing him to revel in the might
of all that he hath done.
For his surname, though once it pertained to cards,
is now a sordid pun.
And that alone’s a gift to all bards
from this Individual One!