Eternal Rome has changed somewhat since last I trod her cobbled streets: the air's more foul; The plastic present taints the marble past. In fifty years what will define her soul? It won't be her cuisine; that race is run. E'en if the dish has an authentic look, Your Amatrician' will not be done Al dente by the Bangladeshi cook. The gypsies will still pick your pocket, true, But so will Lampedusan flotsam: droves Who crowd around each old, romantic view And then relieve themselves in parkland groves. At last, when Romans--childless--finally die, Their city will be renamed New Shanghai.