Analysis of Ode to Trump

'Tis done! But yesterday he ruled, America's most grand,
To despots and emirs bejeweled he'd dictate and demand,
(Their gifts not fecklessly bestrewn to find a favor, seek a boon),
And lordly to command.
Once master of his nation's fate, diminished now, no longer great.

How could this happen?  Such a one so mighty born as he,
The warp and weave of fate undone and none could e'er foresee.
Divinely chosen sovereign, what cause invoke ye to explain
Thy people's mutiny?
"'Tis clear and plainly evident, skullduggery by Satan sent."

But is there not another way to see thy mighty fall?
Perhaps the people had their say and spurned thee after all.
They weighed thee fair an autumn past and found thee wanting at long last,
And issued their recall.
'Twas fairly fought and fairly lost, thy bruisèd pride the only cost.

"But forces dark and sinister at home and oversea,
Strove mightily to minister their fatal draught to me.
'Tis clear to all I was undone, Fox nightly shows I should have won,
And won it most bigly.
Great ominous cabals that lurk in darkest shadows did their work."

Oh Hubris!  Thou who givest man for pride just recompense,
Hast ever in thy lengthy span known one so lacking sense?
No deadly cabal seeks thy doom, nor Satan's minions in the gloom,
Would hie they spirit thence.
Thou hast by thine own misdeeds wrought thine own comeuppance, never sought.

With snide and mocking jibes instead of thoughtful policy,
Thy yeoman votaries were led to place their faith in thee.
Thou raisest fawning acolytes and scoundrels to the greatest heights,
And callow progeny.
Thy counselors all unctuous men who chant thy praises o'er again.

Thou cleav'st in twain those families who sought a refuge here,
Their sons and daughters thou wouldst seize and fain make disappear.
Ye huddled masses, tempest-toss'd, the wastes of Mexico ye cross'd
For this?  But have no fear;
For someone somehow will provide, well-fed in cages they abide.

And when thou wouldst a respite seek, for governing's a bore,
Thou playest golf most every week on Florida's warm shore,
Or strikest thou a mighty stand with unread Bible in thy hand,
Before a churchyard door.
Ye hollow fragment of a man!  We've suffered thee as best we can.

To Florida, beside the sea, exiled in thine own land,
Thy Slovene beauty there with thee to walk the sodden strand.
And loves she still thy sullen face?  And shares with thee thy proud disgrace
(Though scorns thy proffered hand)?
And this despite thy wand'ring eye.  Such loyalty no one can buy.

Like Bonaparte thou wouldst incite thy rabble to the fray,
But lacking stomach for the fight thou wisely stayed away.
No Washington, no Bonaparte but small and trivial thou art,
And ever after may
You be a footnote, scant and pale, to this our land's most sordid tale.