The rampage of arson.
Was he born in a garrison?
Or perhaps inside a prison?
He was nobody’s Godson,
Nor any body’s grandson!
The constant comparison,
Turned his face crimson!
He couldn’t learn a lesson,
Nor would listen to reason!
It was always the season,
For indulging in treason;
All he needed was a mansion,
But roamed around like a bison;
If only he could jettison,
The fumes of mental poison,
He could become a good person,
A good mason-even if not a parson.
(Inspired by the recent London riots)
Leave a comment