In Ahmed's fields the poppies bloom,
As soldiers search from room to room.
They turn up little; some opium, a knife,
and a burkha that must have belonged to his wife.
A tripwire triggers a massive blast
That startles Mehmet while walking past
Others shrug and carry on amid the gloom.
We'll take our quarrel to the foe
As did the British, so long ago,
With reasons unclear and purpose forgotten
our folly ripe; our reasons rotten.
To silence critics, quote John McCrae
And the corpses pile higher day by day.
While confident leaders claim to know what's best
I think of Wilfred Owen,
…Do they know Dulce et Decorum Est?
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