About a bookshop, not a zoo.
EDIT: I don't want to overexplain a song that will mean different things to different people. It could be any city (it felt very New York when I sang it, and I barely know NYC!) and it certainly could be pandemic-inspired.
Anyway, here's my little FYI card on the wall next to the painting:
The only part of London I know well is the area around Russell Square. Gower Street has a Waterstones bookshop with an amazing collection of used Penguin books. In nearby Tavistock Square there's a statue of Gandhi which in the spring is surrounded by a circular bed of tulips. The Reading Room is the amazing space in the old British Library (inside the Museum) which isn't even open to visitors anymore, let alone readers. Time moves on.
Walked down Gower Street to see the Penguins
Dressed in colours, orange and green and blue,
Holding out the hope of hidden treasures
Like Sutton Hoo.
Walked down Gower Street to breathe the morning,
Stopped into the Square where time is still,
All the tulips listening to Gandhi
Like tulips will.
And the Reading Room is closed to readers
No ethereal dome to draw the eye.
Tourists ask the way to Tutankhamen
But not the why.
Walked down Gower Street to hear the Penguins
Whispering a tongue we all once knew
I should take them home and give them shelter
Like old men do.
Walked down Gower Street and felt the city
There beyond the trees and underground.
Here among the Penguins and the tulips
I will be found.
And the Reading Room has no more readers,
Nothing but a locked and silent door.
Tourists buy Rosetta Stones on postcards
Who are they for?
And the Reading Room has closed to readers,
No blue desk to rest my book upon,
Tourists drink espresso in the Courtyard
And time moves on.