Versailles, December '99

The landscape is lunar. 
Devoid of life and wretched, the once-conceited  
Hunting grounds of royalty lie 
Fallow, dank, exposed.
The campus reeks of nakedness— 
The hall of mirrors harbours introspective  
Whispers of horrified ghosts.
Even the fountain cherubs weep,  
Leaking dribbles of abashed despair.
10,000 uprooted refugees. 
Like so many corpses, 
Bulldozed and buried and burned. 
Winter, always bleak in France, 
This year denies the spring.