A snappy old Airedale named John
was keen to wage war with Iran.
He barked and he bristled,
until Scotus whistled.
Then he wagged his tail and lay down.
When Donald flew off to Korea
he left John behind out of feah
that he might rip Kim’s pants
and spoil his bromance
with the Fat Lad from North Korea.
Quarantined, as it were, in Mongolia,
John suffered from melancholia
and was heard to howl and whine
when Donald crossed the line
with the Dictator of Dystopia.
