Trafalgar Square

A youth with golden hair

Climbs atop a cold stone statue

Of a famous city man,

Sat atop a cold stone mare.

There he stands with head held high,

Unfurls a flag and lets it fly,

And I who look upon him long

For one so earnest and so fair;

So vibrant as to bring to life

That cold stone city man,

Sat atop his cold stone mare;

To make it bray and make him sing

In praise of all the virtues

Of the joy that fills the air.

But here I am, forgotten statue

Of a forgotten city man,

Looking on in stony envy

Of that statue over there

Crowned by the youth with golden hair.