WASHINGTON — The Senate brought President Trump to the brink of acquittal on Friday of charges that he abused his power and obstructed Congress, as Republicans voted to block consideration of new witnesses and documents in his impeachment trial and shut down a final push by Democrats to bolster their case for the president’s removal.
(by Nicholas Fandos & Michael D. Shear. NYT)
The President of Cockaigne has been summoned to a trial
by a Congress boiling with high factions and low bile.
Some of them have whetted all their knives with horrid care,
hoping they can scalp him and take home a piece of hair.
Others cry 'injustice' and proclaim there is a plot
to railroad the poor President with paltry tommyrot.
So a big shot justice of the peace steps in the mess,
flapping his black robes just like a raven in distress.
Witnesses are shuffled like a deck of cards, but stay!
They don't seem to testify in any useful way.
All their testimony is recorded and ignored;
it runs on like a river and soon ev'ryone gets bored.
Congress sits so long and hard that rumps turn into stone;
way up in the gallery there's nothing but ozone.
People in the streets are seething, but their only goal
is to purchase chips and beer -- then watch the Super Bowl.
The President of Cockaigne in his palace broods and tweets,
and when he sees a journalist he steps on them with cleats.
He knows he'll be acquitted by his toadies loyal and true,
and yet he starts to gibber as if sniffing lots of glue.
He'll take Cockaigne to war, he says, and then he says he shan't;
his logic is as pretzeled as that stuff by Manny Kant.
And when the trial is over all Cockaigne will breathe a sigh,
and nothing will have changed except more Democrats will cry.
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