I am terrible at blogs, as much as I love them; not having updated in three weeks seems terrible but, unfortunately, pretty inevitable. I dont know why I am trying to reason with you, the internet, but I feel I need an excuse. To be fair, I've had RIOTS to deal with and I also got a job, the one which required excellent communication abilities. Not sure if I have those just yet, but here is a man who most definitely did. It's everybody's favourite Romantic poet that's not Wordsworth or Byron; that's right it's PERCY SHELLEY, or as he's known to his friends, Perky Shellfish.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".