Things I’ve noticed while slouching toward Bethlehem
The falcon cannot hear the falconer.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed
And everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned
The best lack all conviction
While the worst are full of passionate intensity
Surely the Second Coming is at hand
Somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man, a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun.
The darkness drops again
Vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
With apologies to William Butler Yeats