Photo via TheJournal.ieI met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two hundred vast towers of stone
Stand in a deserted town. Near them close at hand,
Half sunk, a torn picture lies, whose clown,
With wrinkled hair and sneer of clueless command
Tell that its painter well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The limos that mocked us and the politicians who fled.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Anglo, Bank of Banks:
Look on my loans, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone commercial wastelands stretch far away”.
Poem based on Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Photo via TheJournal.ie