15 Apr The Poet Considers (Three)

On the other hand, Chairman Mao.
Bucked the whole trend somehow:
He was allegedly five foot eleven,
But probably no nearer heaven:
He also loved to send people packing from the here and now.
Ciao!
Eighty million, according to the latest reports.
He liquidated all sorts:
He’d think of a number and just keep adding on the noughts.

The big thing people remember about him now was one of his warts –
Plus he left the world a book of extremely tiny thoughts.

And what about Napoleon?
He was another fat little roly-poly ’un –
And, I have to say, not exactly a holy ’un!
Why is it that when you’re short of five-foot eight,
You develop an unbridled urge the whole world to ruthlessly subjugate?

Small
Is, apparently, all!

(This view, I hasten to say, though diminutive,
Is in no way definitive –
And I humbly apologise for splitting that recent infinitive.)

What prompted the bloke, I ask you, to up sticks and leave Elba,
When he could have just chilled out there, forever, stuffing his podgy face with peach melba after peach melba?
You’d have thought he had better things to do
Than to bid a premature adieu
To the charming view
And friendly island crew,
Before beetling off to meet his Waterloo!

Sometimes a tiny man’s gotta do what a tiny man’s gotta do!
To be continued….