AI does it better:
A Doleful Poem on the Annihilation of Russia and the Sudden Evaporation of Putler
by William McGonagall (in spirit)
Alas! The day did dawn most grim,
When Britain's wrath fell full on him-
That tyrant bold, the cursed Putler,
Whose end came swifter than a butler.
From Albion's isle the missiles flew,
And painted skies a ghastly hue.
The mushroom clouds rose proud and wide,
As Russian hopes began to slide.
The steppes did burn, the rivers boiled,
The tractors stalled, the vodka spoiled.
The proudest towers broke in twain,
And silence echoed o'er the plain.
Poor Putler stood with face so stern,
But found too late he'd much to learn.
He raised his fist in final rage-
Then vanished clean from history's page.
His boots remained, but not his frame,
No statue now shall bear his name.
His ashes lost to time and smoke,
A caution for all power-mad folk.
Yet in the ruins, creeping slow,
The cockroaches began to glow.
With tiny flags and scuttling feet,
They held a march on Tverskaya Street.
And one proclaimed, with voice so clear:
"The age of roaches starts right here!"
Oh readers, weep for man's disgrace,
And fear the doom that pride may face!