Creative Native, quite contemplative-
he draws on walls in ancient caves.
So Hieroglyphic speculative:
Cuneiform curses mark mummy graves.
On land the sand, the grains of Man-
exoplated, protective shells.
A last ballast, we're sinking fast;
step lively men, and hoist the sails!
The Tribe has grown and it has thrived-
(their drumbeats echo as if alive!)
We've lost our rudder, I wince and shudder,
and I have lost all will and drive...
No longer fond of the Amazon-
Jungle be damned; I wish 'twere gone!
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet