I met a traveller from a bankrupt land
Who said: "Two vast and empty safes of steel
Stand in the vault. Near them on the screen,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled brow of one has-been
Tell a photographer well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that fought them and the wallet that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Dubya, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.