|The Snow Man|
|by Wallace Stevens|
One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged with ice, The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of the January sun; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wind, In the sound of a few leaves, Which is the sound of the land Full of the same wind That is blowing in the same bare place For the listener, who listens in the snow, And, nothing himself, beholds Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
I think that was the most disgraceful collection of degenerates and idiots that has ever been gathered together at the White House, with the possible exception of when Donald J. Trump dined alone. –S.Kenawe, with apologies to JFK.