He prided in being a good speaker
In conversation, he was effective indeed.
He would make an opponent feel weaker
In an anxiety always to succeed.
IN spontaneity of speech he was smart
With choice of words he practiced art
He would always prepare his craft for the meeting before
With qualities so strong his opponents would say no more
Until one day
So well he couldn’t play
He missed his boat
In atmosphere of heat
Nothing came up his sleeve
Yet he wouldn’t grieve
Lost his logic his power his plan
No way to go back to his den.
Not that he be the one
Who was so good
But now on the run
Feeling awful, he should.
