HARD CHOICES

Sadly, once more, ancient Kabul -
                                from our North-West frontier's sway -
Ran with blood, as now this sun does reeking into Cuba's bay;
Rose-red from the burning oil wells Tigris and Euphrates lay;
While in, once dark North-east, Trimdon,
                                        posed our P.M., grinning grey;
"Here and here did Britain fail us:
                                        how can we stay British?" - say,
Whoso turns as I, when unchained, to Allah to praise and pray
While Blair's dulled star, gutters out there,
                                        silent o'er Guantanamo.

                    (Apologies to Robert Browning)

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