The Man And His Hat

In the shadows of Canberra’s halls so grand,
Lived Bruce Lehrmann, a man with a plan,
But his hat, oh that hat, perched high on his head,
Symbol of pride, where folly was bred.

He escaped the lions’ den, trial aborted in mist,
Yet greed whispered sweet, with a dollar-filled fist,
Blinded by signs of wealth in the air,
He sued for his name, without thought or care.

Defamation’s call, a siren so sly,
Against networks bold, he aimed for the sky,
But the courtroom revealed truths buried deep,
His antics unraveled, no secrets to keep.

Witnesses spoke, evidence laid bare,
Lies twisted like vines in the judge’s stern glare,
That hat he went back for, his reputation’s crown,
Crumpled and torn as his case tumbled down.

Ill-fated the foray, the litigation’s defeat,
Justice Lee quipped with wisdom complete,
“Back for his hat,” in the den once more,
But the lions roared louder than ever before.

Appeals followed swift, another mad dash,
Hoping to salvage from ruin and ash,
Yet courts turned away, appeals ill-fated too,
His ego’s balloon, now punctured and blue.

Dollar signs danced in his ambitious eyes,
Visions of riches, of victory’s prize,
But his own wild deeds, like thorns in his path,
Proved enemy greater than any backlash.

Parties and whispers, nights lost in haze,
Behaviour that doomed him in myriad ways,
The hat he pursued, a metaphor stark,
For hubris that led him straight into the dark.

When ego soars higher than intellect’s reach,
A tragedy brews, like Greeks on the beach,
Fates weave their threads in a sorrowful play,
Lehrmann’s downfall, in the light of day.

So heed this tale of the man and his hat,
Where pride over wisdom invites the fall flat,
In courts of the land, where truth holds the sway,
A Greek proportioned end to his disarray.