Weep Not Amuga Poem by Dela Bobobee

I hear music in the sultry air
whispering palms beckoning
the gentle breeze from the shores
the echoing lap-lapping of the tides

in all this I hear a still small voice
in muffled tones “Weep not Amuga”
for that great day is surely coming
when the world in feverish quest
for artifacts of much intrinsic value
will dredge your muddy hyacinths
in search of a broken piece of sword
that pierced the messiah on the cross

from the vaults of Alexander the Great
what the Fuhrer hid in your sandy depths
the world his remains searched in vain
but failed to look at your odd sanctuary
for what has been hidden from the wise
in the opaque suicide Fuhrerbunker
has been revealed to the suckling
a decoy to traverse the sea to river.

Written by
Dela Bobobee©