Biden doth speak of labour’s worth, but ‘nflation gives him mirth,
People's strain he doth not see, for gold and silver blind is he.
In Rafah town, a striking blow, hath reaped what God did not sow.
Pray for peace, pure as wine, for souls departed e'er so fine.
The dollar's strength doth start to fade, expectancy hath made a trade.
Its sturdy reign, like stout gone flat, 'twas once a lion, now a rat.
