I've always felt sorry for Vladimir Putin.
First there's his name, not Ryan or Newton,
But a thud or a punch, the spitting of pips,
That rolls down the tongue and pops off the lips.
And he looks like a wrestler ready to choke
Some poor s.o.b. who cracked a bad joke.
I've always felt sorry for Vladimir Putin.
So high in the polls? You're darn-tootin'.
But scorned abroad for his taciturn grace,
Asserting his power, not knowing his place,
Yet working with Hillary, John and The One,
As they picked off his allies, wars yet unwon.
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