Arabia

Naphtha wells up out of Oriental sand
That hard reek of flint, black bubbles --
Greek fire burns my hand
Persian ships in a conflagration
Meanwhile, on land, an handful of Argives
Perish to the last man
Victorious over Xerxes, whose span
Descends into shame, senile
Your ziggurat, old man, melts on tan
Shores under waves that continually break
Give yourself a hand
You learned what to take.