Bird of prey,
Seek them out,
for they also search for you,
last hawk on the breeze.
How I follow your movements
to Paris and further aloft,
vision is yet keener
than chance could ever be.
Over roofs, over the Louvre
with Royal Standard flown,
allegiance and honour to unfurl.
How you glide past life, death
with movement of the swift.
Turning full circle,
ever to return to land
beside the unrelenting motion
of the Seine, it notices
none but the wiser.
And this Land, what is that,
but an old citizen’s dream,
the point of using a shortsword,
a livre left to street shine
to be one day a glint
in youngblood refound.
