Tired and worn
The Tigris flows,
Through Baghdad and Mosul
Millenium old.
Crimson stained
In depth
We've wept
And knelt upon its shores.
Warrior poets
From ages lost
Have carved it's shores in rhyme,
As bloody hand
In burning sand
Melted into time.
Today we see
This hardened vein
And skies reflect the pain,
As soldiers fight
And poets write
On Tigris shores again.




















































46 old applause
