Only five months yet remain
Until the day comes once again
Beleaguered in the red-voiced words
That fall stinking like the turds
Of pachyderms that plod along
To find a place where they belong
And trample places that they go
In passing through creating woe
So stuff and garnish all your homes
For who knows where that one will roam
Who by calling out for more
On the day has declared war
That in five short months will be today--
Or so the squawking pundits say
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