We’re all at the end of our snow-pe [Ed. note: Yes, that’s snow+rope]
And yes, this is out of my scope
It sure ain’t my meter
But what gift is sweeter
Than couplets of health reform hope

The end of his term starts to loom
And so I can only assume
Those rhymes that he stretched
Are soon-to-be etched
All over his really huge tomb

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