Drafted this on Nov 3 2020. Little did I know that things would go the way they did! Yet, it remains.

This day is called the third November:

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,

And rouse him at the name of MAGA.

He that shall live this day, and see old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say ‘To-morrow is the MAGA day:’

Then will he strip his keys and show his scars.

And say ‘These wounds I had on MAGA day.’

Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,

But he’ll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day: then shall our names.

Familiar in his mouth as household words

Trump the Don, Ratcliffe and Flynn,

Nunes and Powell, Durham and Lindell,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.

This story shall the good man teach his son;

And November Third shall ne’er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remember’d;

We few, we happy few, we band of patriots;

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition:

And liberals in DC now a-bed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their virtue cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon True MAGA’s day.

Yet, and confirmed, eloquence.

Would that I had the bard's tongue.

https://media.greatawakening.win/post/qUKc8HDK.jpeg