I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: 'One vast, decrepit wall of stone
Stands in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And fleshy lip, and sneer of harsh command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Donald Trump, the 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.'
(Original is 'Ozymandias' by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Edited by Eva Gnostiquette.)