Lines on the day they opened The Shard.

Unreal city. Wren’s dome, the cornichon, 
Make sure that tastes of every man are met 
Across the city's skyline; pacts upon 
Which London’s architectural rhythm is set 
Through variety. It’s what they say ‘bout here: 
The mix, the urban life, the greater chance 
There is of finding one whose view is near 
To mine: a critic fooled by 'mere romance'. 
A lie then: full city often empty; 
Who else feels Portland Place just as I do? 
A single set of eyes, that feed just me; 
How would it seem if looked upon through two? 
And now, from outerspace it seems, has come 
A great glass 'I', alone, reflecting sun.