The Leaning Tower Poem by Oleg Vorobyov

O, Pisa, somewhere on the stark Ligurian shore,
Almost reaching the flap of the High Boot,
Thou flauntest your ambitious zikkurat,
The medieval few-centuries of drop!
I wonder when it going to flop?

How can it be being ever about to fall?
The gradient to mete eternal slide,
Galileo's ninepins game,
Like a howitzer
Howling!

Were that Babel somewhat of horizon of events,
Then matter would be sinking slopewards
Into the innards of its gluttonous trap
Never to be ever retrieved…
Beware the Thief!