Oh, globalists bold, with your grandiose schemes,
Of open borders and technocratic dreams,
You wanted one world, united and free—
But alas, the world thought, “That’s not quite for me.”
You spoke of the future, of wealth fairly shared,
Of passports and nations no longer declared.
You'd balance the markets, erase every wall,
With conferences, cocktails, and well-dressed cabals.
How lofty your plans! How noble, refined—
But people, it seems, had something else in mind.
While you sketched your maps in glass towers high,
They clung to their cultures with a fierce battle cry.
Oh, lovers of treaties, of metrics and charts,
With visions of progress (if lacking some heart),
You’ve found that the masses, to your sheer dismay,
Have opinions as global as Aunt Edna’s soufflé.
So here’s to you, jet-setters, in privileged flight,
As your cosmopolitan visions take flight.
Retreat to Geneva, Davos, and Rome—
The locals, it seems, prefer to stay home.
So farewell, globalists—don’t take it too hard,
We’ll send you a postcard—from our own backyard.
(Looks like even the politically correct-programmed ChatGPT has been swept away by the red wave.)