The Trumpywump

Beware, beware the Trumpywump
His skin is orange, he likes to pump,
His teeny hands rub rounded tum
And words come out of mouth and bum.
The little white house in a deep, dark wood,
Was where the Trumpywump lived, and he was not good.
He was a mischievous redcap of goblin breed
and on children's laughter he liked to feed.
He captured children, all sizes and ages
And kept them for dinner, cooped up in cages.
Patrolling the borders of his wooded nation
He gobbled up facts and imagination,
Beware, beware the Trumpywump
His skin is orange, he likes to pump,
His teeny hands rub rounded tum
And words come out of mouth and bum.
Silent but deadly, you can smell him first
Like a overblown balloon fit to burst.
Even down to the village of Burblebabbage
They can smell his pong of rotten cabbage.
It is in this village our two heroes dwell,
In the small bakery shop next to parish well,
Lived brave wee Hansel and his clever sister, Greta,
Who made cakes great, but dreamt of better.
Beware, beware the Trumpywump
His skin is orange, he likes to pump,
His teeny hands rub rounded tum
And words come out of mouth and bum.
We must speak to the Trumpywump and get him to stop
The more trees he blows down we will come a'crop -
So they knocked on his door, and opening he snarled,
What do you want? his bloated face gnarled.
The more walls you build, and trees felled in the wood
The more our towns and villages will flood.
But the Trumpywump snorted, I don't see the link.
And that's what happens when you don't like to think.
Beware, beware the Trumpywump
His skin is orange, he likes to pump,
His teeny hands rub rounded tum
And words come out of mouth and bum.
The ghastly goblin grabbed the poor boy
With his tiny hands all hobbledehoy,
I don't believe you, your story is FAKE!
I'm going to put you in the oven, in a pie to bake.
Chortling with glee, he considered his treat,
And sat down to jabberwock a teeny-tiny tweet,
In which he boldly stated, 'Pie is best served for tea,
With large freedom fries, and glass of Covfefe'
Beware, beware the Trumpywump
His skin is orange, he likes to pump,
His teeny hands rub rounded tum
And words come out of mouth and bum.
But Greta was clever, Greta was good,
Greta knew how to survive in this wood,
She wasn't the 'Loser' he'd called snowflake-youth,
She always looked behind the 'alternative truth'
So scattering a trail of burger bun crumbs
She lured him out before he fed his big tum.
He sniffed and he sniffed, and he gobbled crumbs down,
and followed her trap to the bridge above town.
When suddenly water! A great tidal wave
Swept Trumpywump over and down to his grave,
As he hurtled towards a bottleneck jam,
He saved the villagers by being the BIGGEST, BESTEST EVER dam.
So finally, a moral for generations one and all,
Don't be a 'Loser' - build bridges, not walls.*
Suzanne Fairless-Aitken

 * Unless your name is Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson.