I met a janitor from a run-down lab
Who said: Two vast and peeling poster slides
Hang in the hallway. Near, on the bench slab,
Half torn, a wrinkled photo, with a frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its subject well those structures read
Which yet survive, inked on these lifeless things,
The hand that drew them in the projects dead:
And on the white caption these words appear:
"Ozymandias, senior med chemist:
Look on my works, ye postdocs, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that empty building, tragic and bare
The clear hood sashes still rattle away.
with apologies to Shelley