In Competition No. 2934 you were invited to submit a poem suitable for inclusion in Now We are Rich. You weren’t obliged to write in the style of A.A. Milne, but most of you did.
Long lines mean that there is space for only five winners this week; D.A. Prince, Warren Clements, Max Gutmann, Martin Parker and George Simmers were unlucky to be squeezed out. Those that made the cut are printed below and take £30 apiece. Bill Greenwell’s ‘Binker’-inspired entry earns him the extra fiver.
The Donald — as I call him — is a secret I can’t share
The Donald is the reason why I have such golden hair
Making market killings, stealing from the poor
Whatever cut I’m taking, the Donald tells me, ‘More!’
Oh Murdoch is a stinker and he has a giant wad
And Billy Gates has more inside his bank account than God
And Branson is Branson, blond and rather odd
But they can’t touch The Donald
The Donald’s on the dais, with his wallet making free
And tells the world to take a running jump or else agree
He twinkles like a diamond with his broad expensive jaws
And makes more money every time he milks them for applause
Oh Buffet is a toughie and he loves his stack of stocks
And Bezos makes a mint each time you’re sent a cardboard box
And Soros is Soros, a rare and wily fox
But they can’t touch The Donald
Bill Greenwell
I never was a poor man,
I always had enough
To live in bourgeois comfort
With a decent load of stuff.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in