Like a storm he landed on the beach
To fumigate each horrid leech
Once there to us he did beseech
“Follow me into the breech!”
“For I have something good to teach.”
“That greatness is within our reach”.
Ten thousand followed on the shore and
seeing them a million more.
The Olde Guard rasped a ranting roar.
“He’ll not get by the ceiling’s door”
Too late! They saw what was in store.
Twas not his ceiling but his FLOOR!
Smugness slipped away to doubt.
The Olde Guard saw that all about
The Vulgar poised for a grisly rout.
From trough they kicked the porcine snout.
Too late! They saw his heart was stout.
The Moneymen now had no clout.
Oh, they tried to tear, to rip him down.
They called him Nazi, called him clown.
They wept and broke in to a frown.
“Its ours, its ours this leaders crown”
But they couldn’t tarnish his reknown.
They had the room, but he had the town!
I hope one day we’ll all look back
to when we’d strayed and slipped the track.
And he placed his chips all in a stack.
In a restless race that had no slack
With a warriors steel and a winner’s knack
To help us bring our greatness back.