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December 27, 2006
Pressious Planning (a poem)
In cool, dark, early morning air,
Their growls betray that they are there.
Then come their baying blood lust sounds,
No prey will live survive their grounds.
They seek their sacrificial goat,
A victim they can seize by throat,
They're in full cry, the American press,
The king must die, no more, no less.
A man, who with true honor led,
When country hurt, when country bled,
The media now, all full of ire,
Will throw him live upon the pyre.
Forgetting that we're unattacked,
They want him fired; they want him sacked;
No thought of Iraqi millions freed,
They want to see George Bush now bleed.
So a good man will be now destroyed
By media twits that he annoyed;
And warriors who gave us their all,
Their sacrifice lost in his fall.
For the press cares not of victory,
Cares not the hurt to you and me;
To them it's all about one man,
Who stands athwart their liberal plan.
That Texas cowboy drives them mad,
Sets minds afire with what they had,
When once a Clinton ruled the land,
And polls and press were in command.
So look to them to tell us all,
When elections come some future Fall,
That Hillary Clinton's America's bet;
Trust them on that, oh sure, no sweat.
With every poem I write like this, I post a warning they shouldn't miss:
Some day the fires you seek to feed, may consume the press, so please take heed.
Russ Vaughn is the poet laureate of American Thinker.