The lump in the White House thinks he writes poetry. Worse yet, his wife thinks he does.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Oh my, lump in the bed

How I’ve missed you.

Roses are redder

Bluer am I

Seeing you kissed by that charming French guy.

The dogs and the cat, they missed you too

Barney’s still mad you dropped him, he ate your shoe

The distance, my dear, has been such a barrier

Next time you want an adventure, just land on a carrier.

Now it makes sense why she cancelled a White House poetry event because she was afraid the invited poets might have had something offensive to say.