President Passed, Press Impasse
I used to doubt them about him: his heart, health or wealth.
A president can richly breathe,
But my president was poorly silenced –
What sound does death tell?
I used to know his face: pale plain of age, frail: fifty-eight fold in old.
A president can be stale,
But my president in addition has passed –
Who can console these travelling tears?
I used to hear in news, his politics, policies: now of him used,
A president can usually stay,
But my president is gone –
Where on earth do you think he went?