Gone the carving,
And those who left their mark,
Gone the kings and queens now only the rats hold sway
And the weak must die according to nature's law
As old as they.
A parish church is raised to the status of cathedral. Inside it's just homely. A collection of minor grandees are celebrated round the walls.
Above it looms a monster. A spire raised to capital - to boast above the London skyline. One is to the glory of God - the other to the wit of humans and the kingdom of cash.
The cash won't last. One day it will all be gone. And we can remember the words of Eliot:
"Why should I mournOne day, the most powerful man, the richest banker, the most famous celebrity - all will be dust. In the end, all the people alive today - no matter how powerful - will be the people of long ago.
The vanished power of the usual reign?"