Jack Smith Reveals He Had "Tons of Evidence" Against Trump

[gfarber]

40. Evidence

There once was a counsel named Jack,
Who put Trump’s whole case on the track.
With documents stashed,
And subpoenas abashed,
He found willfulness—cold, hard, and black.

Some papers were kept by the shore,
In boxes and closets galore.
Though laws were quite clear,
Trump grinned ear to ear—
Then claimed they were his to adore.

Said Smith, “There’s a mountain, not fluff,
Of willfulness—more than enough!
He blocked and delayed,
He lied and he swayed,
And still said, ‘This charge is a bluff!’”

Forty counts made the headlines ignite,
The facts, you could say, were airtight.
But power reclaimed,
The charges got maimed—
And justice gave way to the right.

He stalled when the Feds came to call,
Said, “These are mine, not yours at all!”
Then shifted some files,
With signature wiles—
While lawyers just stared at the wall.

Jack Smith, though composed and refined,
Is labeled with names ill-designed.
With insults and tweets,
Trump never retreats—
He governs, while justice is blind.

The law says, “No man is above,”
Yet Trump fits that glove like a glove.
With power in hand,
He rebrands the land—
And shrugs at the rules from above.