Out flowed a stream, in the lambent glow

Of morning light, orange-tinted and slow.

Through the islets and the holts, meandering in tow,

The stream arrived at the habited abyss, the oppressor's home.

The stream passed myriad houses and many a ménage,

The frames coalesced to form a scene sans panache.

The vivid colors of distrust and fear,

The absence of the Magna Carta liberated. 

The subjugated masses, humble and weak,

Failed to stand their ground or against oppression speak.

They bowed their heads and adagio dropped to their knees

The stream passed by nonchalantly, viewing the scene.

Decades later, when the orange-tinted stream

Passed by the solitary abyss, in spring,

The faces had altered, the clothing more à la mode

But the subjugation present was as vivid, as unfeeling.