Urn

Naked men.
Straight and gold as sporting arrows.
Galivant across granite black.
Studies in sturdiness.
Pitted against snarling myths.
Arms pulled back in attack, their best foot forward.
Sitting quiet on a wooden plinth.
Amongst taciturn men with saggy arses and proud, cheek slapping flatulance.
Amongst all the powdered ladies and fine china.
The roars of their heroic deeds replaced by turning pages and loud opinion.
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