Respice post te, Hominem te esse memento

The parade tore air itself asunder
as trumpeteers unfurled their great fanfares,
so heralding the imminent thunder
of lordly stallions pulling gilded chairs.
This revelling in triumph no man spares.
Even in lofty Olympus so high
no god would dare claim men’s glory not theirs.
Disgraced were those who’d staked the Dux defy
yet the shamed alone knew they were to die.
A crown lingered o’er the general’s head;
stain and vice his godly robes did belie.
A slave held the wreath over him, and said:
Look behind you, your glory fleeting is.
You are but a man, do not forget this.