It’s not easy being Green
The Official Coronation is held
In the Verdant Glade of the Green Unicorns.
The Shawrax hands over the Chalice of Power
To Elf Princess Chlöe in an austere Druidic rite.
“I must away,” said the Shawrax,
“To the Great Chartreuse Private Sector Opportunity in the sky.”
He vanishes in a puff of viridian smoke.
The newly anointed Elf Queen Chlöe
Gazes at the legacy bequeathed her:
The Mighty Moss Covered Castle of Eco-wokeness.
Up to the Grand Entrance she strides
To take her place on the Emerald Throne.
There lining the hall are the Solemn Statues
Of the Leaders of the Ancient Times:
Saint Rod, Saint Jeanette,
And the High Prophet of Jah, Nandor.
“Hello?” Calls the Elf Queen,
But her voice echoes across the dank flagstones.
Where are the happy Green unicorns?
Where is the Morris Dancing of Old,
The Brass Buttons, Green Silks and Silver Shoes?
In the lonely corridors, she comes to the rusty doors
Of the Multiple Chambers of Skeletons.
In the first room a large purple banner hangs,
Reading “CRYBABY” in giant scrawled letters.
“Hmm,” mutters Chlöe.
In the second room,
A hundred migrant Oompa Loompas
Toil in a dark and gloomy E-Bike Workshop.
“Hmm,” mutters Chlöe.
In the third room,
There is nothing but two hundred and thirty seven
Piles of designer frocks from Scotties Boutique.
“Hmm,” mutters Chlöe.
She looks down at the Chalice clasped in her hand
And sniffs at the Organic Herbal Kombucha within:
And it smells distinctly off.
Victor Billot has previously felt moved to write Odes to The Regent Seymour, King Luxon, and Lord Winston.
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