I met a traveller from a strife-torn land
\nWho said: \u201cAn orange and empty head of stone
\nScreamed at the people . . . Near it, in the grandstands,
\nHalf drunk, a bitter correspondent, whose frown,
\nAnd wrinkled lip, and trembling hand,
\nTell that its owner knew his hopes were dead,
\nCould not survive, insulted by this orange thing,
\nThe crowd that mocked him, as his poor heart bled:
\nBut in his notebook these words appear:
\n\u2018His name is Donald J. Trump, ranter of things:
\nPay heed to his word salad, and despair!\u2019
\nNo one with brains remains. Past the fairway
\nOn that benighted course, boundless and bare
\nThe greens and empty sand traps wait, unplayed.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"