One June-born morn, he rose again,
From slumber deep, through fog and rain.
Top hat askew, stars slightly worn,
He blinked - confused, both proud and torn.

The billboards screamed in crimson red:
“Make America Great Again,” it said.
He frowned, recalling distant years,
Of sacrifice, of hopes, of tears.

He scrolled the screen with weathered hands:
Tax cuts, coal, divided lands.
Judges...

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