Arafat Is Dead

At last, the great old lion bows,
its eyes now bleak and gray
its jaws shut tight, saliva drooling,
still as the hot desert day.

Farewell, farewell, old warrior
whose flame has burnt its oil
but tis a light in the darkest night
that painted red your Arab soil.

And David's sons shall never sleep
til the night of your last embrace,
no olive branch, no requiem,
for only death has earned their praise.

But worry not, your passing's not
the curtain of your people's peace.
Ideals true, its seeds now borne
the fury of your liberty increase.

And with God's grace, your destiny
that Palestine be soon restored
for all good things are possible
through the blessing of the sword.