Cobble-Clad, steeped streets
Adorned with arches and artefacts.
And tales of Tribes.

Relentless rain, sea-slanted
Culls the cowering crowds now
tucked tightly in touring traps.

Plain-plied propaganda inflates
Whilst the bloated brogue corpse bawls shanted slang to captivate

Massed mobs headlessly herded
Past wretched ruinous remains and craiced carcasses; innards infected with shameless shlock and schtick.

And what of the poets? The artists? The mused? If seeing such sights absolved and abused.

Their lyrics unwritten and verses unstated; but no matter; such history is now antiquated