The King Of The Fourth Of July

The King of the Fourth of July
By William Francls O’Donnell
21

Author: William Francil O’Donnell

Did our forefathers wot, when they shattered
Our English-forged fetters, that they
Would give reign to a lord more tyrannic
Than even King George in his away?

A Czar who, one day of each cycle,
From turbulent throne-seat makes cry
In sphere-shaking accents: “Cringe, menials,
To the King of the Fourth of July!”

Budding Spirit of Freedom, hail! bravo!
May your reign-(Zip! boom! bang!)-Wow, my eye!
The young scamp! He’ll not rest till he blinds me-
That Pest of the Fourth of July!

Clothed in purple-the purple of smoke wreaths;
Gold diadem’d-gold is his hair;
And for scepter a punk stick!-was ever
A monarch with him could compare?

Finger “busted,” face burned-does he waver?
Cares he for his robes torn, awry?
“”Rah! ‘rah! Let me reign while I’m ablel”
Shouts the King of the Fourth of July