We know them all by their first names,
Names ingrained on our brains,
Cried by millions who've been slain
By the personal greed of the criminally insane.
We've got:
Adolph, Idi, Kim and Pol,
Francisco, Mao and Nicol.
Many others have come and gone,
But today we're dealing with The Don.
Thousands meet death prematurely,
Because Don is bereft morally.
Preoccupied with re-election,
While risking a healthy population:
The aged, sick and compromised,
Won't get to vote when they die.
That's why The Don turned on New York,
They didn't vote for the fucking jerk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem