Amidst those dark, uncharted times,
when leaders locked the planet down,
A stag leapt from his woodland home,
and took a trip around the town.

In centuries past, this centre was,
the verdant playground of the deer,
A meadow of Elysium,
and fragrant flowers blossomed here.

This stag, of gentle-footed step,
was full of soft-eyed majesty,
In fustian coat with, on his head,
a crown of rugged ivory.

And tall and strong and slow of gait,
just like an emperor he trod,
Along that concrete boulevard,
where once the kings of France played God.

In days of old they would, no doubt,,
have hung him on a palace wall,
While courtiers dined on quail and swan,
inside some sumptuous, draughty hall.

But now it was as if he were,
upon a glittering victory march,
As we, the vanquished, watched him stride,
beneath the vast, Triumphal Arch.

And gazing on the silent street,
I felt about to burst as I,
Stared like a parrot from a cage,
at laughing birds all breezing by.