"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?" I admit I'm not the most fervent reader of W.B. Yeats, but the little I have read just sends me. This last line especially, has always made me ponder all manner of beasties, harbingers of the coming doom of the world. And while Yeats describes something more akin to a Sphinx, complete with lion's body and human face, I've had a different imagining of it. Part demon, part bull, part lava flow...Doom comes to town, hide your pets.