Saddam, whose beard is now but stubble;
Baghdad, whose walls are now but rubble;
Blasts, which daily punctuate the silence:
Wails, whose sadness punctures my conscience.
Sad, for times when truth spake not truth;
Aghast, for books that poison our youth.
Avarice, or greed, the international creed:
Raking in money while the millions bleed.
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