The marbles of Mosul

At the dawn of man in some hundred B.C.
The Kings of Assyria did some marbles decree.
Countless unknown uncared hands,
Chiseled away stones in forbidding sands.
Out of the marble they created life,
A piece of art that bore no strife.
Craftsmen and sculptors toiled in the sun,
The things they achieved were not meager one.
Left for the world to behold and envy,
It did inspire the men to dream and to see.

Three thousand years down the line,
The ruins, the sculptures defy the time.
Harking back to the dawn of men,
Innocents wondered how, why and when?
There in the city of modern Mosul,
Still stood the pride of Assyrian men.

Yet for the reasons beyond imagination,
Shame of the mankind indeed boil down.
After the despairs of men women and children,
It was the turn of the prides of crown.
The endeavours of craftsmen had outlived time.
Yet they were punished without a crime.
Bludgeoned to pieces, now dust they would be,
Known as the marbles they now cease to be.