We will miss President Obama and his unceasing hope.

There’s more than enough of high drama

In being called Barack Obama.

So watch as he speaks

For rhetorical peaks,

It’s like scaling Mount Fujiyama.


And watch, like a seasoned Marine,

How he never exhibits his spleen;

Not given to pique,

He remains sympathique,

Presidentially cool and serene.


We’ll soon have to make our good-byes

To his sly, unrobotic replies—

(Not to mention those dimpled silk ties). 

Like Francis the pope,

He’s addicted to hope

Where all opportunity lies.


Politicians have dreams in the night

Which, when in full sunlight, take flight;

The Barack we prize

Dreamt with wide open eyes,

Never flinched and never took fright.

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