wb :

Too many men have wrote of statues brought
To knees by time and wind and desert sand,
Great avatars of kings and countries grand
So reaped and fallen, leveled from their haught,
And thought it symbolized the end of Man
In watching spires crash unto the ground
The rhythmic crash, of falling empires' sound
A tolling of the bells for lord and land-

It starts much smaller. Those same eyes will know
The weakened legs, the ever-trembling finger,
And crooked back, and joints no more the stronger.
Minute a tragedy, a scornful show,
To watch his ending, in the sun to shiver,
And know that broken stone will last the longer.

-~-

Because at three forty-five in the morning I was a little pissed at Ozymandias.