A Trump In A Teacup

No Pequoad captain he nor China set for sea.
A precedent that he made
                   four lumps it seemed he’d saved.

One sweetest taste a maid stirred pots of golden haired delight
                      and serve’s the king of towers right there down upon the rocks bright
                                                 and he, great white crown that be, lies pooned a’ railing “see?!
       why I no more a house of white for me, no more no more a house of white for me?”
                      
And so glide, in courts by no balls of dance abide
          humpbacks proud do swim a Queen to sing their hymn
                            while she, no crystal glass of glee, when brew of wrath she delivers hot in her stormy cup’s of tea.