Stoned

His lordship is petrified.
Are you a duck, then eat
from his hand
your daily bread.

He will suppress a yawn,
'cause he stands here stoned
and still like a statue
already much longer
than a century
or two.

Sometimes he walks
dormant from his pedestal,
whispering:
”Be praised, O Lord,
that there was today no seagull
shitting on my head!”