There stands an important man,
Made immortal by the bronze and gold that laces his structure.
Firm, aged and full of intellect,
He stands pointing toward the western sun.
Tie worn tight as his suit lays motionless in the wind.
Crass, hopeful, he is not without scandal,
A man who lives with his past open for all interpretation.
Those who stroll past look up,
Thoughts lingering on his works.
Eternal, when all else crumbles to
Dust and scatters the raging sea,
He will stand steady, pointing, outlasting
All he should be remembered for.