Twas a few of nights before Christmas, when all through Iraq,
Not a creature was stirring, except a rat in a shack.
The Mars bars were laid by the bed with care,
or was it the contents of a post-coalition scare?

Saddam was nestled, all snug in his bed,
While bedbugs and spiders danced in his head.
Osama in his 'kerchief, sometimes in a cap,
Had just settled in his cave, for a long winters nap.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
Saddam sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
Up from his bed, he flew in a flash,
Threw up his arms, armed only with cash.

The moon on the breast of his newly-grown beard,
Gave him a ZZ-Top look that was ever so weird.
When, what, to my wandering eyes should appear,
Two AK-47s, not used due to fear.

A pathetic old geezer, once lively and quick,
Now like a candle, without its wick.
More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called himself by name.

Great Leader! Marshall of glorious armies! Annointed One!
Great Uncle! Doctor of Laws! Hero of Bagdad! I am Undone!
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Up the chimney, the Great One came with a bound.

He was dressed shabbily, from head to foot,
His clothes were tarnished, with ashes and soot.
His eyes, how they drooped, his face how it sagged,
I knew then, the Butcher was bagged.

Led into the Humvee, as meek as a mouse,
We knew then, no better than his roommate, a louse.
To despots and dictators, both near and far,
When you support terrorists, you raise the bar.

If its war you keep wishing, you may just get your fight,
A lesson to all, and to all a good night!

SteynOnline