Say not, my poodling nought availeth,
   New Labour and its spin are vain,
Iraqi folk faint not, nor faileth,
   And as things have been, they remain.

My hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
   It may be in yon smoke concealed,
Weapons of Mass Destruction pyres
   Will choke those who my lies revealed.

For while my mad eyes, vainly searching,
   Seem now no funk-hole to have found,
Far off, through streets and cities marching,
   Come voters and elections round.

And not by Fox or Sky news solely,
   But from the 'Beeb' comes in the light,
And as my dirty Sun sinks slowly,
   I fear old Labour's Mirror bright.

                    (Apologies to Arthur Hugh Clough)