In Congress' hallowed halls, Brother Cheatle takes a stroll,
To answer queries sharp as swords, a tumult for his soul.
A firestorm, a tempest brew'd, o'er Trump's close plight,
Each lawmaker hath spake, "We're stew'd!" 'mid disbelief and spite.
Sister Harris' view is clear, on policy she does not steer,
From Biden's path she shall not veer, if she commands the rudder.
No radical transforming gust, but steady wind is what she trusts,
Her vessel steering just and just, no sudden turns to clutter.
Then came the startling decree, Biden hath withdrawn, you see,
Causing a stirring 'mongst the bee, to change their sweet production.
Trump's allies, wielding a wealth repourt, lay into Harris without port,
While Democrats in hopeful fort, await a youthful induction.
