Epitaph on a Tyrant

As I may have bragged about a few times before, I'm currently the occupant of W. H. Auden's old apartment in Brooklyn Heights, Brooklyn, Kings County, New York, U.S.A.

I've been reading more of him so I can channel his spirit to my life's pursuits, very few of which include poetry this days, BUT, I found this here poem that I thought fits in nicely with the temperature of the world right now. I hope you enjoy it.

Epitaph on a Tyrant

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.