Preferring death to getting caught, She emptied weapons as she fought. Though shot and stabbed she didn’t flinch. She battled on, did Private Lynch. Or did she?

Though they could see that she was hurt, Iraqis treated her like dirt. They kept her in an awful place, Ignored her wounds and slapped her face. Or did they?

By night our special forces made A daring, dangerous rescue raid. And, with a withering attack, They snatched their wounded comrade back. Or did they?

The Army brass who used this filly, Deny they sought to gild the lily. They wouldn’t, masked by battle’s fog, Concoct a scheme to wag the dog. Or would they?