I raged with Saddam as my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I raged at Saddam as my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

Watered it with public fears,
Night and morn with scary tears;
Beamed on it with Christian smiles,
And with soft, deceitful wiles.

And it grew both days and nights,
Fruiting in UNMOVIC's flights,
Till, in trust, Saddam gave way,
Yet feared these crews were in my pay.

With his missiles no more whole,
After night had veiled the pole,
By dawn's awe I gloating saw
My foe's folk felled - wrath's fruits of war.

                    (Apologies to William Blake)