Ozymandius at BigLaw

I wrote this a number of years ago as part of a secret santa gig at my old firm.  I've revised it for publication here.

I met a lawyer at the library door,
Who said -- "Two hundred vast and useless tomes
Stand on the bookshelf.  Near them, on the floor,
Half sunk, a sleeping first-year lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and loud, uncaring snore,
Tell that its author long those tax codes read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless texts;
The eyes glazed over, the brain cells shed.
And on the Schedule A, these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandius, as the form reflects.
Audit my deductions if you dare!'
The driver waits below.  Near the doorway
Of that colossal Firm, darkened and drear,
The sad and sickly streetlights mourn the day."