A nation filled with rival clans
who serve those with the highest pay.
Its exports are the poppy plant's
drug that can cruel death purvey.
For seventeen years we've fought a war
and watched our heroes fight and die,
while their leaders gave our dough
to those on whom we can't rely.
Leave, then stop the flow of drugs
and never again befriend the thugs.
Visit http://allthatrhymes.squarespace.com for more poetry by James E. Cox.
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