A White House Christmas
'Twas the month of Christmas '18, In the stately White House. Just a single Trump was stirring, Of course, it was Donald's spouse. Her blood red trees were decked, With hardly any flair, Consistent with THAT jacket, The one that read, "I Really Don't Care." Young Baron was dreamily sleeping, In his giant four-poster bed, Of escaping with his Slovenian Mother, From that weird old man she had wed. The kid's life had become a prison, Inside a 12 foot iron fence, With lobbyists and grifters and Ivanka, Not to mention that creepy Mike Pence. Then on the vast White House lawn, There arose such a clattering din. The First Lady heard someone yelling, "Yo Melania! Where the heck have ya been!" "I'm here to bust you out! Get you back to NYC! To the bustle of Broadway and shopping, Plus the Statue of Liberty!" Her eyes how they squinted (more), Her lips how they poutily pouted. She fairly ran to the Truma