Epitaph on a Tyrant

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died on the streets.


W.H. Auden.

I have to thank Pull out the Pin for reminding me of the poem. Read the post here.