Imperator Juvenis
(An Inaugural Owed)
 
Hail to George, son of George,
Scions of the Bush-ite clan.
Who built their Georges
In the mighty forges
Of Privilege American.
 
And would you be President?
Would you take the throne?
Wear the leader's mantle
As though you'd truly won?
A word or two 'mongst the favored few,
And, lo! the deed is done!
And the halls of power reverberate:
"Hail to George the son!"
 
And hail to George the sun and moon,
the stars and planets too!
Columbia's crown
On thy shining brow and...
(God, we almost worship you!)
 
Now, some surmise that George will rise
To stature given time.
That stewardship will obviate
The taint of electoral crime.
 
And some suggest that, come the test .
Of call to battle daunting
He'll join the fray . take the day
George won't be found a-wanting!
 
But some say,
That on that day of clarion call,
When the trumpets sound
On the battleground,
We'll not find George...at all.