Tonight Rome burns
and while the flames jump
madly to the sound of a decadent’s fiddle
I think it is just as well What
sculpted us imperial
has shrunk to a walnut
in the fist The face of Rome
is senile and tomorrow the Tiber
holds another city in its palm We
who have seen Rome’s face in many rooms
wonder tonight as the fire burns
in its great city how will you look
in morning and ashes?