Worst poem ever

Who invited the Vogon to the inauguration?

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Can we agree that inaugural poems are better just published to the National Archives and never, ever spoken aloud in public?

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