The Ghost of Clacton

The Ghost of Clacton

The ghost of Clacton, much revered,

Disappeared and reappeared;

And how the little people cheered;

In hope he would remain.

But in a flash he made a dash,

To crash the presidential bash;

All over Donald like a rash,

He looked to be again.

But Musk had tweeted in-between

And made a scene, since last he’d been,

Hence Donald, now no longer keen,

(Indeed if he was ever),

Dismissed as toast, the doting ghost,

(Whom he, the host, still loved the most,

Or so the ghost was wont to boast),

And left him to the weather.

The ghost, in spite of wounded pride,

Took all in stride and sat outside,

Alongside Tories, each denied

A coveted invitation.

He then withdrew, and back he flew

To where they threw a hero’s due,

And after but a day or two,

He set off on vacation.