Broken only by the faint, infrequent rustle of the few remaining denizens of the blasted landscape. On rare occasion, the ancient ones drift past, and even more rarely they stir the ashes.
`My name is Ozymandias, 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". |
