Lynndie! Alas, Alas For Lynndie!

Oh Lyndie!
Perverted Punky Brewster!
Storm chaser!
Tough little onion
From the farm of bitterness!
Now - hear -
Eleven years!
In deepest stir!
Because of a wink, a cig, a thumbs up!
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!
Why didst thou go with Graner the Seducer,
Unto unholy works
In Baghdad the Damned?
Was it your Oxygen-deprived silence?
Or your will to follow,
Not reading in any way
The signs towards your misfortune?

But, thy infant child, thy one hope!
Seed of trailer trash
Bound for grimness,
Nevertheless, could well rise
From the fumes of failure
In the years ahead, of future dynastic tyrrany,
Towards triumph,
When he testifies in front of Congress all
To reveal the truth about his unhappy mother:
That The Don himself,
Knowing the Private's cellphone number,
Made, with approbation from assistant The Paul,
Who, comb in mouth,
Hovering over his boss's wrestler's shoulder
In timid but commanding form,
Chuckled, as The Don
Gave direct writ to sullied Lynndie,
To go, make merry with Eye-Racky flesh;
Pose, in trophy hunt form,
Have big fun, and go in saturnalian joy.
But do not ask - yea - and do not tell,
Of these arcane orders - evermore.
Under a threat which cannot be named.

And Lynndie, tough punky pipsqueak,
Kept silent, as was her old way, those long years,
Bitter, but resolved, to retain her merit as loyal
To they who commanded her,
Be it unto the grave.

Yet, in son's noble quest for justice,
They who made their princely plots from afar
Will still come unto judgement,
Ultimately in a court far higher
Than any now known.

Oh Lynndie, young Lynndie!
- If 22 be still young -
How could you have known,
In your trailerian days in old W. Virginny,
That you could have made
Pentagonian trusses tremble,
And the inhabitants therein cry
Unto heaven for mercy?

As you sit out your youth
In the not unpleasant cooler
In an as yet undetermined military facility,
But without a Freedom nor Liberty
Of which the Leader hath benovolently
And magnanimously brought
To they whom you posed with,
Know this: ye can still shake ye foundations
Via a bestseller, so that The Dons and The Pauls
And all they who are of them,
Have ye to fear!