Sweat dropped from the tip of my nose onto the brass piece I beared.
I danced up the dirt ramp reaching the tip of the tower.

Other workers put the pieces together. The soil masked the beauty of the figure created,
But it towered over the island of Rhodes — glimmering light from the sun onto the city.

Fifty six years the icon stood, mesmerizing every eye that fell on it.
The polished brass gleamed as the sun sparkled.

A hungry lion rattled as the ground rumbled.
A blanket of dust swept across nestling Rhodes in a thick fog of rubble.

We scrambled through the rubble and grieved our loss — our freedom.
Devastation flooded and our leader crumbled, as Colossus had.

A tear dripped from the tip of my nose. I looked down from above and saw
The lady draped in green — the new freedom.