You were in a race against Joe Biden,
But you did not win the race.
Biden was the winner
And he is now the President.

Mr ex-President, you said, when acceding to the throne four years ago,
That you would seek common ground.
Not hostility.
Partnership.
Not conflict.

But instead you fomented hatred.
You espoused racism and white supremacy.
You did not make America great again.

What will you do next?
No one can be sure, but you have promised litigation.

He touches screen with skinny hand,
“There was a Brief,” quoth he.
“The Clerks they cheered, the Fee was cleared
How merrily went we!”

“Yesterday, I shopp’d away:
My Fee fed unquenched yearnings!
And talk of tax: t’were just attacks
’Pon my projected earnings!”

“It was a jolly time,” went he
“My diary full to brim:
I’d look on LEX: a sea of text
And hearings rim to rim!”

“Then tell me, ancient Barrister!
What fiends do plague thee thus?
Why look’st thou blue?”—“In Guildford County Court loo
I caught coronavirus.”

“Down dropt the fees, the clients dropt too,
‘Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the BSB.”

“Day after day, day after day,
No mail for inbox bare;
As idle as the LAA
(they’re under-resourced, but really: over a year?)”

“I miss my suit, my ties and shoes,
They were my knightly armour:
Odd tele-hearings won’t fill the gap
As they’re done in pyjamas.”

“Lawyers, lawyers, everywhere,
And all the work did shrink;
Bloggers, bloggers everywhere
And too much time to think.”

“Now tell me ancient Barrister
How did this woe-tale end?
Some beast to bless, flaw to address,
Or all your wrongs to mend?”