None

Solitary, I
Watch the duality
Of the Triumvirate play
Out before my weary eyes,
Their pent up rage boiling over
As if hexed.  How they fall to
Pieces like trees in September, though with less
Height, the simplest of breezes able to break them
Like a flimsy set of nine pins.  Fools!  Only the
Rarest of men may bask in the decadence of power uncorrupted.