El Dorado Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A man once shone, in golden gleam,
A Muisca king, a waking dream.
With sticky sap and dust so bright,
He stood arrayed in shining light.

To Guatavita, waters deep,
A royal boat, secrets to keep.
With lords he sailed, to touch the wave,
A gilded gift, the gods to save.

He bathed the gold, it washed away,
While jewels and gold, in disarray,
Were tossed within, a precious plea,
For favor from eternity.

Then whispers came, on Spanish tongue,
Of a gilded man, a tale they sung.
El Dorado, they named the chief,
But greed took root, beyond belief.

The man became a city grand,
Of solid gold, across the land.
They searched the jungles, year by year,
For riches that were never here.

The Gilded Man, a tale that flew,
Of treasures lost, forever new.
But not a city, shining bright,
Just ancient rites, in golden light.

A myth was born, from golden dust,
A faded king, a conqueror's lust.
No golden city, they would find,
Just tales and dreams, left far behind.