Oh purple man, thou sentient berry hue
How thy coat and inky trousers match
Ne’er one garment out of place
And thy sway the eyes of others catch.
Thy midnight shade, thine sweet Ribena beard
So full as if a-stolen from a sleeping otter
Draw me in with thy amethyst glare
Like Serendip, the wind is turning hotter.
Who art thou I wonder, purple man
To whom can boast thine scented orchid being?
Thine shifting vision, slip-budge walk
Hidden though we ne’er tire of seeing.
Oh turrets high, ruins smelted in God’s steely wrath
These three streets where none hath thy name
But on the pebbled paves we verily step
Without thee our town would not be the same.