I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: "Two small and shrunken hands of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, an orange visage lies, whose frown,
And Chinese cap, and pout of petulant command,
Tell that its sculptor well those tantrums read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The wig that mocked them and the rage that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Trumpymandias, Yuge of Yuge!:
Look on my works, believe me!, and my hair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The bankrupt casino parking lot
Of cracked and empty asphalt stretches far away."