Treix, France.
In Treix, where cows outnumber folk,
The baker is the mayor, a fine pastry bloke.
He runs the boulangerie, town hall, and the café,
And knows all the gossip (and who’s late to pay).
The rooster named Pierre crows at half-past two,
Claims he’s the boss, and, well, it’s probably true.
Madame Dupont waters her plastic flowers,
So they look fresh, at all the hours.
It’s calm and it's quaint, not much here to see,
But Treix’s charm is as French as it can be!
(The above is not based on facts)