The Seven Wonders: The Colossus of Rhodes

Ah, Rhodes.  Beautiful city, but don't look up as you sail into the harbour - gods have no need of pants, you know.

He came to my city prepared for war,

Like Xander of old, a king of Macedon.

His army was mighty and his siege strong

But a year passed and the army was gone.

Their arms remained—the defenders’ spoils:

They made my skin of the iron that clothed his tower;

My bones are his swords, sold for my making;

The brass of my rivets once served him as armour.

But alas! my fall comes too soon;

A god’s displeasure waking

Sets the Earth quaking

And my joints shaking

Leads to their breaking—

So my harbour becomes my tomb.