Chilcot - a cold wind wraps Great Britain’s heart

Her archetypal refuge - cold as death.

He broke the last taboo for ego’s gain

In self-aggrandisement stole other’s breath.

 

And such is our disgrace, none barred his way

Save one whose easy Honour was upheld.

The rest in ignominy bowed his will

Outside: a million, impotent, repelled.

 

No darker hour this nation ever faced

Invaded by deceit and structured lie.

At unmet need all goodness from him fled;

Where moral vacuum lives, the righteous die.

 

In his defence he knew we must attack.

He said: “Doubt me, but don’t doubt my belief”.

And so we joined America in war

Once more, to Arab lands, we would bring grief.

 

Lord Chilcot has a way with stable doors:

One to be closed, indeed, seen to be so.

When he has done, no stone will be unturned

The truth ground wondrous small, and all on show.

 

But shall we be the wiser for that ‘turn’?

Such fine grained truth can be a lot like sand.

Time-jaded minds may reach - but poorly grasp

As all his fell misdeeds slip through our hands.

 

Then, as we watch him strut in Global state

In self-deluded opulence quite chuffed

We shall attend to his unending war

And know that – verily – we have been stuffed.